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athenalvss · 2 months ago

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SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE A DREAM ( Dick Grayson! )

request; can I ask for a dick grayson x fem!reader?! Where she is extremely beautiful, like surreal, and when she introduces herself to the people (titans and batfam) everyone is hypnotized and dick's ex-girlfriends get jealous

pairing: dick grayson x fem reader

a/n: I was enjoying so much writing this until I decided to be stupid in some way and delete all my work. sad af.

summary: A new hero has arrived in the city and after a few encounters with Nightwing on patrol, it leads to the beginning of a friendship - according to them - in a new case that involves the great heroes. Dick calls her cause he thinks she could help, but it is not her abilities that perplex his friends and family.

open request - batfam masterlist

The first time you met Dick, it wasn't exactly in a normal way, not even with his real name. The two of you were patrolling the city when you happened upon a bank robbery and arrived just in time before a guy inadvertently knocked him unconscious from behind.

That's when he turned around and saw you. You were somewhat hypnotic, with an ethereal bearing and a magnetic presence. It wasn't just the way your suit looked on your body; there was something about your gaze, it had a depth and power he'd rarely seen.

"Are you okay?" You said as you approached. "It was a hard punch" you said. He seemed a little dizzy, and you were worried he might faint somewhere in the city.

"Yes, yes," he whispered softly, keeping his gaze fixed on yours. He took a microsecond longer to analyze the little skin of your face the mask allowed him to see. He could see soft skin, the curve of your nose that fit the shape of your face perfectly, and lips that could drive anyone crazy. "I'm fine. I just didn't see it coming, thanks..."

From then on, you met every night on the same rooftop on patrol, and later, after a fight on those nights, they ended up revealing their identities to each other. They knew each other well enough to share their biggest secrets.

Your friendship had stopped being just nocturnal and you became part of each other's daily lives, but there was a small detail, no one knew of your existence, or at least no one had seen you, that was until one night you received a call.

── .✦

"Trust me, she'll be a big help with this." Dick came back to the room where all the titans were after making the call.

"She? Are you going to let a stranger into the tower?" Kori looked at Dick with a look of complaint and surprise.

“I trust her.” Dick was blunt, but not harsh. That sentence was enough to make Rachel look up from her book and Gar grimace.

“We didn’t even know he existed until ten seconds ago,” Kori muttered, “unbelievable.”

Before Dick could respond, the security system beeped softly: someone had just arrived at the perimeter. Dick walked over to the console.

"Get ready," he said, still staring at the screen as he excitedly headed for the door. "She's here."

When the elevator doors opened, silence fell like a heavy blanket.

When you joined, you went straight to Dick. The Titans couldn't see everything from where they were, but they clearly saw how one of your arms was around his neck and one of Dick's big hands was placed on your waist. The two of you started walking together toward the living room, him keeping his hand on your waist.

Rachel stopped pretending not to look. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes scanned you with clinical interest.

Gar, his jaw a little slack, turned to Conner. “Is she human?”

Conner just frowned, as if he needed to adjust his vision to confirm you weren't floating a few inches off the ground.

Kori didn't speak. She looked at you as if your every move was a carefully calculated threat. Her posture changed, becoming more rigid. Her arms crossed over her chest and her stoic expression didn't hide the flash of annoyance in her eyes at the sight of Dick's hand on your body.

Your gait was fluid, steady, marking your presence in the room with a naturalness that wasn't affected by the unfamiliar surroundings. Your eyes scanned the room calmly, taking in every detail, trying not to seem so surprised to finally be in the place that had once been Dick's home. But the four Titans standing there were watching you intently; everything about you seemed to belong to another planet: an ethereal, magnetic presence, your figure, everything about you.

You were like a model, definitely Dick's type.

Gar blinked a couple of times. Conner lowered his crossed arms. Rachel simply raised an eyebrow, visibly interested.

Kori, on the other hand, crossed her arms even more tightly, if that was possible.

Dick came closer. "Guys, she's-"

"Wait, no, don't tell me his name." Gar raised a hand. "I'd rather continue believing it's an illusion sent by some higher entity to distract us."

You smiled slightly, as if you were used to such reactions. "What a... warm welcome," you said in a soft but ironic voice, looking at them sweetly.

Conner watched you silently, assessing, as if he were wondering whether you were an ally or a dangerous distraction. Beside him, Kori kept an eye on you. "So what exactly is she supposed to do?" she asked in a cold voice, not bothering to disguise her tone.

"It's the best option we have to resolve this," Dick said firmly, deliberately ignoring the tension that Kori was barely concealing so as not to provoke a fight.

"How did you meet him?" Rachel finally chimed in, curious about the closeness between the two.

Kori watched you closely. "So how long have you been working with Dick?"

"For a few months now," he replied before you could say anything. "We met on patrol."

"Patrolling," Kori repeated slowly, her smile never reaching her eyes. "How... typical of you."

You didn't need to be an empath like Rachel to notice the subtle venom in her words. But instead of responding with hostility, you simply turned your head toward her with a half-smile, the kind that seemed to say, 'I know exactly what you're doing, but I'm not going to fall for your game.'

“Yes, it was a coincidence… a lucky one.” Your tone was calm, almost innocent, but with a subtle edge. “Though I didn’t think someone like Dick had such a predictable routine as to be considered typical.”

Rachel giggled, covering her mouth. Gar raised his eyebrows, as if watching a tennis match between goddesses.

Dick, uncomfortable but fascinated, tried to shift the focus. “She’s good. Seriously. I’ve worked with many, but few have her analytical skills under pressure,” he said, trying to avoid a fight.

Just as the mood seemed to stabilize, Dick's phone vibrated. He checked it with a frown, and his expression immediately changed.

“We have to go,” he said suddenly, his voice deeper. “There was another attack... but this time the pattern was different. They used a security protocol that only Bruce would recognize.”

“Batman?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dick nodded. “He and the family have been monitoring similar movements for weeks. It seems this isn't just a local case. What we saw here is just a small part. We need his technology to trace the data back to its source.”

Gar let out a low whistle. “Oh, we’re taking the mysterious beauty to the cave. That should be interesting.”

"Actually, I need you to stay here in case something happens," Dick intervenes, announcing his plan.

"Aren't we going to the Batcave? What a betrayal, bro." Gar started acting like Dick had just said something treasonous, sounding hurt by Dick's refusal. "At least we'll be in the pretty girl's good company."

"Umm..., about that" Dick begins to speak but pauses for a few seconds searching for the right words "She's coming with me" he blurted out quickly so no one could refute his decision.

Saying those words, you turned to the princess from another planet, worried that the vein that was popping out on her forehead from anger wouldn't explode, but she turned and walked away without saying a word.

Dick sighed and looked at you. “Ready to meet the family?”

── .✦

The Batcave was a place that used to impress anyone. If you were already impressed by Titans Tower, this was insane. It was cold, sober, a super-efficient place. But when you went down the elevator with Dick, even the shadows seemed to stop and stare at you.

Upon entering, the first thing you could see were all the Bat Family suits inside those transparent tubes on display, the long tables with super-advanced Wayne Industries technology, and the five key men in Dick's life.

Tim was the first to speak, though he didn't really say anything. He just adjusted his glasses and tilted his head slightly, analyzing you as if you were a fascinating new algorithm that refused to be deciphered.

Jason let out a low, unfiltered laugh, trying not to appear mesmerized by your appearance. He smiled crookedly as his eyes scanned your figure without any shame. While keeping his gaze on you, he murmured to himself, "Now I understand how Bruce felt about working with Selina."

"Sorry, what?" You asked him, trying to understand what he said.

"Why you just shut up, Todd? you look better that way" Dick answered him with a serious look.

"Nothing important,babe, sorry" Jason answered you without taking his look on you.

Damian, from the back, murmured something that only Tim could hear, although what mattered was his posture: arms crossed, brow furrowed, sharp gaze. “I don’t trust anyone who seems like an illusion generated by an AI.” A compliment in Damia language

Bruce, in the background, remained silent. His presence filled everything, like a shadow impossible to ignore. He observed every detail: your posture, your body language, the contact you maintained with Dick. His judgment was an invisible sentence in progress, but not immediate. He analyzed. He measured. He weighed, but there also appeared that slight raise of an eyebrow that, coming from him, was practically an exclamation.

You had caught his attention, and that was weird.

The almost imperceptible sound of smooth wheels on the polished floor broke the tense air. From a darker corner of the cave, Barbara's figure appeared, descending the side ramp. She didn't announce her presence, but everyone noticed her.

She radiated control and serenity. Her red hair was perfectly combed, and his gaze was as sharp as an arrow. she stopped at a safe distance, not getting too close.

“You don't usually bring unannounced visitors,” she said finally. Her tone was gentle, but laden with invisible layers: courtesy, analysis… and something harder to define. Jealousy, perhaps, disguised as professionalism.

You could feel her gaze moving from bottom to top, not at all subtle . Your boots, your curves, the contours of your face. Everything. There was no shame or dissimulation in her eyes; only an impassive assessment that bordered on the hostile.

You were simply beautiful, you made everyone who stood next to you look ridiculous, and she definitely wasn't having it.

Dick turned to her with a half smile. “She’s not a visitor. She’s working with us on this.”

Barbara slowly lowered her gaze to where her hand still rested on your hip. Then she studied you from head to toe, unashamed, and her eyes returned to yours.

Barbara held your gaze as firmly as she held her reputation. There was no wavering in her eyes, but no sympathy either. Just silent judgment, as if trying to decide whether you were a threat, a distraction… or both at once.

“I guess that's for Bruce to decide,” she finally said in a not-so-friendly tone, turning her chair slightly toward her, although she didn't take her eyes off you completely.

Bruce finally spoke.

“Good. If you're here, it's because Dick thinks it's necessary. The least you can do is prove it.”

You turned to face him and nodded professionally. “Of course. Where do I start?”

And so, without further validation, you integrated into the cave as if you had always belonged there... even though not everyone was ready to accept it.

And when you headed to your seat, Dick escorted you, placed both hands on your shoulders, and brought his mouth as discreetly as possible close to your ear. "I'm glad I can finally introduce you to everyone" he placed a soft kiss on your head before returning to Bruce.

#imagine dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson smut #dick grayson masterlist #batfam #batfam masterlist #open request #masterlist

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sugary-strawberry-shortcake · 28 days ago

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“You’re Not Supposed to Bleed” ( Yandere Older Brother! Dick Grayson x Poison Ivy’s Daughter Reader)

A/N: I’m literally typing this in a car rn. The moment it gets published (I used the queue lol) I’m probably feeding wildlife elephants in Cambodia. So it will be tough for me To answers questions immediately, but I will do so in a few days!!🩷🩷

i‘m not familiar with TWs, but just a warning Dick is a bit more crazy (he‘s a yandere tbf) than usual

She was in the bathroom again.

Door closed. Water running. Muffled footsteps back and forth.

Dick stood outside her bedroom, arms crossed, jaw tight. She had avoided movie night again, ignored three messages in the group chat, and skipped dinner—even though she said she’d be there.

It wasn’t like her.

At least… not like she used to be.

Not like the sweet little girl who would cling to his arm and giggle every time he ruffled her hair.

The one who used to beg to stay up with him and watch cartoons.

He knocked on her door.

“Little Flower?”

No answer.

He opened it anyway.

Her room smelled like lavender. Neat bed. Clean desk. Everything perfectly in place—except the corner of the sheets, where a dark stain bloomed quietly into the fabric.

Dick froze.

The smile dropped from his face instantly.

His heart slammed into his throat.

His vision went white.

Blood.

Dark. Wet. Seeping into cotton.

His hand trembled as he stepped closer. The image of her—her body, her neck, the white sheet from the morgue—flashed in his mind like lightning behind his eyes.

She was dying again.

He didn’t even hear the bathroom door open.

“Dick, what the hell?!”

He spun. Fast. Like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

YN stood there, wearing a fresh shirt and an annoyed expression. Hair damp. A towel still clutched in one hand.

“What are you doing in my room?!”

“I—I knocked,” he stammered, then looked past her to the bathroom. “Are you hurt?” His eyes unlike she had ever seen.

“No?”

He pointed at the bed. “There’s blood.”

Her face shifted.

Then immediately flattened into horror. And then embarrassment.

“Oh my god.”

“Tell me what’s wrong—what happened—did someone—?”

“Dick, stop!” she snapped, cheeks red.

He blinked. Stared.

“You’re—you’re bleeding. You’re not supposed to—”

“It’s my period.”

Silence.

A long one.

She crossed her arms, glaring now. “Are you done being dramatic?”. This whole situation was just shameful to her.

Dick didn’t move.

Because his brain had stopped working.

Period.

She said period.

She said it like it was normal. Like it was allowed.

His chest tightened. His skin buzzed.

He remembered her as a toddler—barely up to his knee. Drawing stick figures with hearts. Wearing flower crowns she made from weeds. Falling asleep on his shoulder and calling him Dicky.

And now she was… bleeding. Becoming. Changing.

Growing into something he couldn’t control.

“You’re not supposed to have that,” he said softly.

She frowned. “…What?”

“You’re not supposed to be old enough.”

She stared at him. “I’m fourteen, Dick.”

He flinched at the number like it was a slap.

“You’re still little.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“You are to me.”

His voice cracked at the end.

She shifted, the tension rising in her body now—like she could feel it. The heat behind his eyes. The weight of what he wasn’t saying.

“Look, I didn’t mean to stain anything. I’ll clean it up. Just—please leave my room, okay?”

“I can help.”

“No.”

“Let me at least—”

“No, Dick.”

He stepped forward.

She didn’t.

“I can take care of myself,” she said, voice soft now. Firm, but not cruel. “You don’t need to hover over me every second of the day.”

“But if I don’t—” His voice broke. “You’ll go away again.”

She blinked. “What?”

He swallowed. His hands were still clenched at his sides.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“Dick.”

He looked at her. He saw Bruce in the way her jaw set when she was angry. He saw Ivy in the way her eyes went glassy when she was holding back tears. But underneath all of it—he still saw her. The little girl. The soft one. The one with dandelion wishes and grass-stained knees.

He told himself she was still little. Still his Little Flower. But girls didn’t bleed when they were little. And that scared the hell out of him.

“I just want you to stay my Little Flower.”

“I never stopped being her.”

Her voice was kind. Gentle.

But she didn’t come closer.

And she didn’t hug him.

Later that night, he sat alone on the edge of his bed, the stained sheet clutched in his lap.

He hadn’t let her wash it.

He hadn’t thrown it out.

She was fourteen. Fourteen, and she’d had her first period without a single Wayne there to hold her hand. To sit beside her. To tell her it was okay. He should’ve been there. He was her brother. He was the oldest. He was supposed to be the one who kept her from feeling like she was alone in the middle of a house full of people.

She deserved a brother who noticed.

She deserved a family that stayed.

And he was going to give her that now, whether she wanted it or not.

#yandere #angst #batfamily #bruce wayne #dc universe #fluff #jason todd #poison ivy #richard grayson #yandere batfam #drabble #batfam #batboys #yandere batboys #writing #dark themes #yandere family #yandere platonic

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wosospacegirl · 1 month ago

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So...um I'm having thoughts...😳

The cigar stays. Cocky Leah with a cigar as you ride her I mean what? 🫣

Overachierver - Leah williamson

a/n: I know I said I was only going to be back at posting in June, but well, Leah Williamson exists and lesbiansm too, so let's go.

Sorry for any typos, I literally just blurred every thought I my head, it might be a bit messy, too- but I think we like messy in this blog ;)

warnings: (+18) oral, fingering and use of strap (all r receiving)

Leah was cocky.

You knew that already, long before actually dating her. It stood out in the way she carried herself, walked, talked, and styled her clothes–but especially in the way she leaned over you when you first met, hand boldly on your waist as she asked if you wanted to go home with her.;

Arsenal had just won their second Champions League trophy, beating one of the best teams in Europe: Barcelona.

Arsenal were the underdogs. They had lost big and small games, gone through a series of injuries and a change in managers.

All odds were against them.

But still, Leah continued to be smug.

She knew the capacity of her team.

She knew her childhood club could do it.

And they did.

As soon as the whistle blew, you were screaming for Leah from the stands, feeling all kinds of excitement in your chest.s

When you saw her, you didn’t care about the flashing lights or the people watching as you threw yourself into your girlfriend’s arms.

You weren’t a player.

The pitch wasn’t a normal place for you. But here with Leah, you were comfortable, happy, proud of her and everything the team had accomplished.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t stick by her side for the rest of the day.

The team had to walk back to the locker room, which you couldn’t go into. But judging by the pictures, they had a lot of fun.

Then they went to the party.

It was small, but each player could bring their family and friends.

Of course, you were there when the team, mainly Leah, walked in with the trophy in hand and a gold medal around their necks.

Then the singing started, and the drinking continued.

You had a few yourself, Leah too, but you were more wasted than she was..

As everybody celebrated, Leah kept you at arm’s reach.

She held your hip in place, her hands cupping your jaw as she kissed you in one of the corners of the room, away from watchful eyes, making promises about when you two would get to the hotel.

She promised she would sneak out of her room to get to yours.

When you realised you were getting too ahead of yourself with the alcohol, you sat alone in one of the chairs.

Leah, like a puppy, was next to you, giving you water and some snacks, the smug smile on her face never faltering.

She sat on your lap, the light from the dance floor reflecting on her medal. It gave you a slight headache–or maybe it was all the Heineken.

Leah had drunk more than you. How could she look so composed? She looked beautiful, smelled amazing, even after playing a whole 90 minutes in a Champions League final.

She was so close to you.

You wanted a bite.

So you took it.

Your teeth held the skin of her neck. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate.

“No,” Leah said. “Not now.”

“Why?” you pouted. “You won. You deserve it.”

“Deserve what?” Leah grinned. “A hickey?”

“Yes,” you mumbled, your head dizzy with alcohol.

You wrapped your arms around her torso, pulling her close onto your lap.

It felt weird, Leah was taller than you, but you wanted her against you anyway.

You kissed the place you had bitten. It was already turning red.

Leah’s skin was too pale; you could barely touch it before it was turning that purple shade you liked so much.

“I fear you might be too drunk,” Leah said, turning her head to look at you. “You’re not used to drinking.”

“I wanted to celebrate,” you whined. “But my head hurts now.”

“It’s okay,” Leah said, kissing your mouth. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Are you still going to my room?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I much prefer to spend the night with my girlfriend than with Kim.”

“Good,” you mumbled.

Your hands were under her shirt, circling her belly, but now they were up, almost at her bra “Want you.”

“I know you do.”

“Right now.”

“Be patient.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

You were very good. Very patient.

As the party was ending, Leah called a taxi for you. She paid and got you inside, told you to get to your room, put on a comfortable shirt, and wait for her on the bed.

You did just that.

But when you woke up the next day, Leah wasn’t naked beside you. You didn’t have sweat on your body. Your cunt wasn’t wet. The sheets were clean.

“You were sleeping when I got here,” Leah said.

She was sleeping on your side, her Champions shirt still on, her medal still around her neck. Her hair was messy, and her face was creased from the pillow.

She leaned on her elbow, kissingg your mouth gently, slipping her tongue inside. It was a messy kiss, just how you liked it, just how you both wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you said as Leah began trailing down your body, her warm lips sucking your neck determinedly.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, taking your shirt off. “I was wasted too…wouldn’t be able to eat you out properly.”

You whined, no words left in you.

Leah took a nipple into her mouth. She bit it, sucked it, then kissed it.

“My pretty girl,” she murmured as she took the other tit in her mouth. “My lucky charm, you are.”

Her hand was caressing your underwear, her fingers circling your clit lazily.

“Got my trophy, got my medal, and now I get my pussy.”

You spread your legs open, inviting her in.

More. You wanted more.

She played with your wet hole, spreading the wetness before putting a finger in.

Then two.

Then three.

You were panting already, heart beating hard against your ribs as Leah moved her fingers.

Her mouth found its way back to your tits as her medal rested on your stomach, giving you chills.

It was cold.

Leah made you cum.

You bit your own arm so the others wouldn’t hear it. The orgasm took complete control of your body. But Leah didn’t stop.

She was an overachiever.

She took your underwear off, spread your big lips apart, and looked at your clit before kissing it gently. Her tongue circled it before she wrapped her lips around and sucked.

You had never felt so much pleasure in your life.

Well, maybe you had–because seconds later, Leah hit a spot even deeper inside you, and you were coming again, harder than before, harder than you ever had.

“Oh, fuck,” you heard Leah say.

You opened your eyes.

You hadn’t realised they were closed.

She was looking between your thighs with the same look she had yesterday, when she was awarded the trophy.

She kissed the inside of your thigh, carefully, gently.

“You squirted, baby,” she said, lapping at your pussy again, cleaning it. “You okay?”

Squirted?

You didn’t realise you had. But you were also very confused, very dizzy.

You couldn’t feel your legs, not really. Your arms were too heavy.

You couldn’t formulate thoughts or words.

So you just whined, closed your eyes again, and let Leah take care of you. Which she did.

You felt a warm cloth between your thighs. It hurt.

“Sorry,” she said in a low voice. “You’re sensitive. It’ll be over soon.”

It was true. She quickly cleaned you and put on clean underwear. Then she was back at your side, kissing your face, murmuring things you didn’t understand.

She kissed your cheeks, then your nose. Your forehead was next. But the place she kissed most was your tits.

She laid her head on your chest and latched onto one of your nipples.

You both took a nap like that.

It felt good. Close.

But she left soon after. She had to take the plane with the other girls.

Had to be back in England for the trophy parade.

After she left, you tried to get some dignity back. You took a shower, did your hair, and also left, ready for your flight back home. You were meeting Leah there; you just couldn’t go on the same plane.

The next day, you were there with her again.

The trophy parade was over when you found yourself at her house once more.

Leah still wanted more.

Again–overachiever.

She had a cigar in her mouth, the godforsaken gold medal on her naked chest.

She picked one of her biggest dildos, it was Arsenal red, because, of course, it was.

She strapped it around her waist and told you to come sit in her lap.

You took your clothes off quickly and spread your legs as you hovered over her.

She spread lube on the dildo and held your hips, pulling you down onto her cock.

She filled you up to the brim, her cock hitting your cervix as she held your hips, dictating the pace of your ride.

It was good that she was in control, because you weren’t in the right state of mind.

You didn’t know what Leah did to you, but she always found a way to take control, always had the upper hand in every situation.

You loved it.

She chewed on her cigar before taking it out, holding it with two fingers, and cupping your jaw, bringing your mouth together.

You didn’t like the taste of cigars, but Leah tasted good.

So good. :)

Leah broke the kiss, putting the cigar back in her mouth.

“Ride your champion, baby,” Leah said. “I deserve it.”

You did just that.

a/n: sorry if it's bad, im not used to writing in first person pov, it's still a bit complicated for me, im a third person pov girlie.

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #woso smut #leah williamson smut #wlw writing #wlw smut #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson writing

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kenzdolls · 1 month ago

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STORMY HEARTS . 5.7k

⌗ synopsis: after blowing up on your boyfriends, they decide to “ignore” you out of hurt.

⌗ pairing: katsuki bakugo + eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

⌗ sent in by: anonymous

⌗ trigger warnings: arguments/conflict, emotional distress, mild anxiety, mentions of crying, brief reference to nightmares, use of (y/n).

the alarm blared for the fifth time that morning, and you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed with a groan. nothing was going right today. you'd stayed up until 4 am finishing a report for midnight's class after spending hours helping uraraka with her quirk training. your muscles ached, your eyes burned from lack of sleep, and the dull throb of an oncoming headache pulsed at your temples.

"just get through today," you muttered to yourself, stumbling toward the bathroom.

in your exhausted haste, you knocked over your coffee mug, sending the hot liquid cascading across your freshly ironed uniform. you stared at the brown stain spreading across the white fabric, and for a moment, you thought you might actually cry.

"you've got to be kidding me," you hissed, frantically dabbing at the uniform with a towel. all you managed to do was make the stain larger.

by the time you'd changed into your backup uniform (which was slightly too small after the last growth spurt), you were running terribly late. you sprinted across the ua campus, your bag slapping against your back with each step. the spring morning that would normally lift your spirits only seemed to mock your misery with its cheerful birdsong and golden sunshine.

you slid open the classroom door with seconds to spare before aizawa's arrival, drawing curious glances from your classmates.

"hey, babe! we missed you at breakfast!" kirishima's bright voice called out as you slumped into your seat. he bounded over with that sunshine smile that usually melted your heart. today, it just made your headache worse. his red hair was perfectly styled as always, those sharp teeth gleaming in a grin that screamed energy you simply didn't have.

"yeah, we waited for fifteen minutes," bakugo followed behind him, his usual scowl softening slightly when his eyes met yours. he was wearing the special earrings you'd given him for his birthday – small explosive shapes that complemented his quirk. any other day, the sight would have made you smile. "tch. you look like shit. rough night?"

any other day, you'd have laughed at his blunt concern. but today, everything felt like an attack.

"obviously," you muttered, rummaging through your bag for your textbook only to realize you'd left it in your dorm. "great. just great."

"you can share mine," kirishima offered, already pulling his chair closer. his warm thigh pressed against yours as he scooted over. "i even wrote notes in the margins for once! bakugo's been helping me with that whole 'being a good student' thing."

"i don't need your help," you snapped, immediately regretting your tone but too frustrated to apologize. you shifted away from his touch, creating a small but noticeable gap between you. "i'm not a child who needs to be coddled."

kirishima's smile faltered, hurt flashing across his face like a lightning strike. his hand, which had been reaching for yours under the desk, retreated to his lap.

"the hell is your problem?" bakugo growled, protective over kirishima as always. his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously, and a few small pops emanated from his palms – a sure sign he was getting agitated. "he's just trying to help. no need to bite his head off."

"my problem is everyone acting like i can't handle myself for five minutes!" your voice was louder than intended, causing nearby classmates to turn and stare. midoriya and todoroki exchanged concerned glances from their seats. "i'm having a bad day, okay? is that allowed, or do i have to be perfectly fine all the time?"

"fine! handle it yourself then!" bakugo shot back, grabbing kirishima's arm with more force than necessary. "let's go, shitty hair. she wants space, she can have it. all the fucking space in the world."

"guys, maybe we should—" kirishima started, his voice uncharacteristically small.

"no," bakugo cut him off. "if she doesn't want us around, we're not gonna beg."

you watched them retreat to their seats as aizawa entered the classroom, yellow sleeping bag in tow. the pit in your stomach grew heavier with guilt, but pride kept you from running after them. besides, aizawa was already starting attendance, his bloodshot eyes promising detention to anyone who disrupted class.

throughout the morning lessons, you could feel kirishima's concerned glances boring into the back of your head. unlike bakugo, who resolutely stared ahead with his jaw clenched tight, kirishima had never been good at holding grudges. once, during english with present mic, you caught him writing something on a scrap of paper – probably a note to pass to you. but when bakugo noticed, he whispered something that made kirishima's shoulders slump, and the note disappeared into his pocket.

by lunch, the tension was unbearable. you gathered your courage and approached their usual table, tray in hand.

"can i sit—" you began, but bakugo cut you off before you could finish.

"tables full," he said coldly, despite the two empty seats beside him.

"come on, bakugo," kirishima said softly. "that's not manly—"

"it's fine," you interrupted, pride once again getting the better of you. "i'll sit with mina and the others."

as you walked away, you heard bakugo mutter, "see? she doesn't care anyway."

if only he knew how much you did care. how the lump in your throat felt like it might choke you as you forced yourself to smile at mina's table.

"lover's quarrel?" mina asked, her black and gold eyes filled with genuine concern as you sat down.

"something like that," you mumbled, pushing food around your plate without appetite.

"they'll come around," tsuyu said matter-of-factly. "kero. boys just need time to cool off."

but as you glanced over at your boyfriends, seeing kirishima's forced laughter and bakugo's stormy expression, you weren't so sure.

the next three days were excruciating.

your boyfriends weren't outright ignoring you, but they had clearly taken your outburst to heart. whenever you entered a room, conversations became strained. lunch found them sitting with kaminari and sero rather than saving you a spot. kirishima's daily good morning texts stopped, and bakugo didn't wait for you after combat training like he usually did.

the distance between you grew with each passing hour until it felt like a chasm.

on wednesday, you paired with ochako for combat exercises while kirishima and bakugo immediately gravitatedtoward each other. the sight of them working together seamlessly, complementing each other's quirks with practiced precision, sent a pang of loneliness through your chest.

"you're distracted," ochako noted gently after you failed to dodge a simple attack. "is everything okay with you and the boys?"

"i'm fine," you insisted, wiping sweat from your brow. "just tired."

but you weren't fine. that night, you lay awake staring at your phone, thumb hovering over your group chat with kirishima and bakugo. the last message was from three days ago – a silly meme kirishima had sent about hero costumes. you started typing several messages, only to delete them all.

i'm sorry i was such a jerk.

delete.

can we talk?

delete.

i miss you both so much it hurts.

delete.

pride and fear kept you from sending anything. what if they'd decided they were better off without you? what if your one bad day had shown them that dating two people at once was more trouble than it was worth?

thursday morning brought no relief. in homeroom, you noticed bakugo had switched seats to sit farther away from you. kirishima still occupied his usual spot, but he seemed deflated, his normally spiky hair slightly less enthusiastic, as if reflecting his mood.

"trouble in paradise?" mina whispered during modern hero art history, nodding toward where kirishima and bakugo sat together, pointedly not looking your way.

"it's fine," you lied.

"well, you better fix it soon," kaminari leaned over to add. "bakugo's been twice as explosive in training. he nearly singed my eyebrows off yesterday."

"and kirishima keeps breaking things because he's hardening unconsciously when he gets upset," mina added. "he crushed three pencils in math alone."

it wasn't fine. the classroom had become a minefield of awkward silences and avoided glances. even your classmates had begun to notice, exchanging worried looks whenever the three of you were in proximity. at one point, you heard iida lecturing mineta about "respecting the delicate dynamics of polyamorous relationships" – a sure sign that your love life had become a topic of class discussion.

that afternoon, you spotted kirishima alone in the common area, a rare sight these days. gathering your courage, you approached him.

"hey," you said softly.

he looked up, surprise and something like hope flashing across his face. "hey."

an awkward silence stretched between you.

"how have you been?" you finally asked.

"good! fine, totally fine," he responded too quickly, his forced smile not reaching his eyes. "just, you know, busy with training and stuff."

"right," you nodded, heart sinking. "me too."

before you could say more, bakugo appeared in the doorway. his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene.

"kirishima. we're supposed to be studying," he called sharply.

kirishima glanced between you and bakugo, conflict written across his expressive face.

"coming," he finally said to bakugo, then turned back to you with an apologetic look. "i gotta go. but, um, it was good talking to you."

as they walked away, you heard bakugo mutter, "what were you thinking? she made it clear she doesn't need us."

kirishima's response was too quiet to hear, but the slump of his shoulders told you enough.

by friday afternoon, you couldn't take it anymore. sitting alone in your dorm room, you hugged your knees to your chest and finally let the tears fall. you'd messed up. one bad day had potentially ruined the best relationship you'd ever had. the charm bracelet they'd given you on your two-month anniversary felt heavy on your wrist, each small charm – an explosion for bakugo, a hardened fist for kirishima, and a symbol representing your quirk – a reminder of what you stood to lose.

you fingered the charms, remembering how bakugo had pretended to be annoyed about shopping for "sentimental crap" but had been the one to spot the perfect bracelet in the store window. how kirishima had insisted on charms that represented all three of you "because we're a team!"

the memory only made you cry harder.

a soft knock at your door startled you.

"go away," you called, hastily wiping at your tears. you didn't want anyone to see you like this, especially not mina or tsuyu with their well-intentioned advice.

"(y/n)." it was kirishima's voice, uncharacteristically serious. "please open the door."

your heart leaped to your throat. had he heard you crying from the hallway?

when you didn't respond, another voice cut in.

"open the damn door or i'll blow it off the hinges." bakugo, as subtle as ever.

"dude, we talked about this," you heard kirishima whisper harshly. "that's not the approach we agreed on!"

"well, she's not answering, is she?" bakugo shot back. "we've been standing out here for five minutes!"

with a heavy sigh, you pulled yourself up and unlocked the door, quickly wiping away any remaining tears. you weren't prepared for what greeted you on the other side.

kirishima stood there clutching an enormous bouquet of your favorite flowers, his crimson eyes wide with concern. the blossoms were slightly crushed on one side, as if they'd been held too tightly by nervous hands. beside him, bakugo held a bag from your favorite bakery in one hand and what appeared to be a small wrapped gift in the other. his usual scowl was present, but there was uncertainty in his eyes that you rarely saw.

"can we come in?" kirishima asked softly.

you stepped aside wordlessly, and they entered. bakugo immediately began pacing the small confines of your dorm room, while kirishima stood awkwardly by the door. the silence stretched between you for a long moment before all three of you spoke at once:

"i'm sorry—"

"we shouldn't have—"

"i was being a jerk—"

the tension broke as kirishima let out a relieved laugh.

"we've been complete idiots," he said, setting down the flowers to take your hands in his. his palms were warm and slightly calloused from training, the familiar texture making your heart ache with longing. "we should've known you were just having a rough day."

"i saw you spill coffee on your uniform that morning," bakugo admitted gruffly, still pacing. "should've realized you were already having a shitty day instead of making it worse."

"yeah, and we know you were up late helping uraraka," kirishima added. "deku told us."

"you guys were asking about me?" you questioned, a tiny spark of hope igniting in your chest.

"of course we were," bakugo stopped pacing to look at you directly. "just because we were pissed doesn't mean we stopped caring."

"i should've handled it better," you admitted, looking down at your and kirishima's joined hands. "i had no right to snap at you like that. you were just trying to help, and i was… i was just so tired and frustrated and taking it out on you wasn't fair."

"and we had no right to ice you out for days," kirishima replied, squeezing your hands. his eyes were suspiciously bright, as if he too might cry. "that wasn't manly at all."

"it was my idea," bakugo confessed, the admission clearly costing him. "i told kirishima you needed space. but i was just being stubborn and hurt."

"i should've stood up to him," kirishima added. "i knew it was wrong."

bakugo stepped forward, awkwardly thrusting the bakery bag toward you. "here. your favorite. the old lady at the bakery says hi, by the way. asked where you've been."

you peeked inside to find an assortment of pastries that made your mouth water – custard-filled taiyaki, melon pan, and the red bean mochi you loved so much.

"you went all the way to mrs. sato's bakery?" you asked, touched. it was at least a thirty-minute train ride from ua. "in the middle of the school day?"

"we may have skipped last period," kirishima admitted with a sheepish grin. "but all might is pretty understanding! we told him it was a relationship emergency."

the mental image of your boyfriends explaining to the former symbol of peace that they needed to skip class to buy you pastries almost made you laugh despite the tears threatening to spill again.

"we've been following you around all day trying to find the right moment to apologize," kirishima confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. "but you always looked so sad, and we weren't sure if you even wanted to talk to us anymore."

"plus hair-for-brains here kept chickening out," bakugo added, earning a protest from kirishima.

"me? you're the one who kept saying 'the timing isn't right' every time we saw her!"

"because it wasn't!"

"of course i want to talk to you," you whispered, cutting off their bickering and feeling fresh tears spring to your eyes. "i've been miserable without you guys. i tried to text so many times, but i was afraid you'd moved on. that maybe you realized having a girlfriend was more trouble than it's worth."

bakugo's expression softened, and he reached out to brush a tear from your cheek with surprising gentleness. "don't be stupid," he said, but his voice held no bite. "as if we'd give up that easily."

"we were miserable too," kirishima admitted. "bakugo blew up the microwave when kaminari mentioned your name yesterday."

"i did not!"

"you totally did. and i crushed my phone when i saw your name pop up in my memories app."

"is that why you have a new phone?" you asked, noticing the unfamiliar device poking out of his pocket.

"yeah," he smiled sheepishly. "hardening quirk and emotional distress don't mix well with electronics."

bakugo handed you the small wrapped package he'd been holding. "here. this is… from both of us."

you carefully unwrapped it to find a small velvet box. inside was a delicate silver necklace with a pendant that matched the charms on your bracelet – the three symbols intertwined into one design.

"kiri picked it out," bakugo mumbled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

"we both did," kirishima corrected, beaming now. "we wanted something to remind you that even when we fight, we're still connected. the three of us, together."

"plus," bakugo added, avoiding eye contact in that way he did when being sincere embarrassed him, "you're always touching that bracelet we gave you. even this week when you were ignoring us. so we thought…"

your heart felt like it might burst as kirishima took the necklace and moved behind you to fasten it. his warm breath tickled your neck, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. when he finished, his lips brushed against your shoulder in a featherlight kiss before he moved back to face you.

"i'm really sorry," you said again, looking between them and touching the new pendant resting against your collarbone. "for everything. i promise i'll try to communicate better next time i'm having a bad day instead of bottling it up and exploding."

"that's my job," bakugo said with a smirk, referring to his quirk. the familiar joke made warmth bloom in your chest.

"we are too," kirishima replied, pulling you into a warm hug. you sank into his embrace, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne and the faint smell of cinnamon that always seemed to cling to him. "we should have checked on you instead of assuming the worst."

after a moment's hesitation, bakugo joined the embrace, his strong arms encircling both of you. it was rare for him to initiate this kind of physical affection, making the gesture all the more meaningful.

"if you ever feel like that again," he murmured against your hair, "just tell us to back off instead of bottling it up, got it? say 'bakugo, kirishima, i need space today,' and we'll give it to you. no questions asked."

"and if you need help," kirishima added, "just say that too. we're not mind readers."

you nodded against his chest, feeling the weight of the past few days finally lifting. "i promise."

the three of you stayed like that for a long moment, simply holding each other and reconnecting without words. finally, kirishima pulled back slightly, his trademark sharp-toothed grin back in full force.

"so," he said, his voice bright with hope, "movie night in the common room? i think we all could use some cuddle time."

"as long as we don't have to watch another one of those action movies where the heroes do everything wrong," you teased, feeling yourself smile for the first time in days.

"only if i get to pick the movie," you teased, feeling yourself smile for the first time in days.

"as if," bakugo scoffed, but the arm around your waist tightened affectionately. "it's my turn."

"we'll negotiate," kirishima laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple.

the common room was already bustling with activity when the three of you arrived, your hands interlinked with kirishima on one side and bakugo on the other. conversation died down momentarily as your classmates took in the sight of the three of you together again, expressions ranging from relief (midoriya) to knowing smirks (mina).

"thank fucking god," kaminari whispered loudly to jirou, who elbowed him in the ribs. "what? i'm just saying what everyone's thinking! i couldn't handle another day of bakugo being even more explosive than usual."

"shut it, pikachu!" bakugo growled, but there was no real heat behind it. his thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, a subtle gesture of affection he probably thought no one noticed.

"movie night?" todoroki asked from his spot on one of the couches, his mismatched eyes taking in your joined hands with quiet approval.

"yeah, if that's cool with everyone," kirishima replied with his usual enthusiasm. "we were thinking something chill."

"as long as it's not another documentary about mountain climbing," sero groaned. "i still have nightmares about that last one iida made us watch."

"the educational value of understanding extreme environments is not to be underestimated!" iida protested, chopping his hands through the air emphatically.

the familiar banter washed over you like a soothing balm. mina gave you a thumbs up from across the room, mouthing "told you so!" with a wink.

"i guess we were pretty obvious, huh?" you whispered to kirishima as the three of you claimed the loveseat, which was just barely big enough for all of you if you didn't mind being squished together (which you certainly didn't).

"extremely," tsuyu confirmed from nearby. "the whole class was walking on eggshells. kero. aizawa-sensei even asked if there was something wrong with the three of you."

"he did not!" you gasped, mortified at the thought of your homeroom teacher discussing your love life.

"he totally did," uraraka confirmed, floating a bowl of popcorn over to your group. "he said, and i quote, 'fix whatever's going on because your performance in joint exercises is suffering.'"

kirishima laughed, the sound warming your heart. "sorry about that, guys! everything's manly and awesome now!"

"yeah, yeah, just keep the makeup pda to a minimum," kaminari teased. "some of us are single and bitter about it."

"you're just jealous because you can't get a date," bakugo shot back, but there was almost a hint of playfulness in his tone.

as the lights dimmed for the movie (a compromise selection that had something for everyone), you found yourself sandwiched between your boyfriends on the small loveseat. kirishima's arm draped around your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with your hair. bakugo's thigh pressed against yours, warm and solid, his hand finding yours in the darkness.

"this okay?" he asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"perfect," you whispered back, giving his hand a squeeze.

as the movie played, you felt bakugo's foot nudge yours under the coffee table. when you looked his way, he was staring straight ahead at the screen, but the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a small, private smile meant only for you.

with kirishima's radiant warmth on one side and bakugo's protective presence on the other, you knew that no matter what bad days might come, the three of you would weather them together.

later that night, after most of your classmates had drifted off to their dorms, the three of you remained cuddled together on the loveseat. kirishima had fallen asleep, his head resting on your shoulder, soft snores escaping his slightly parted lips. bakugo was still awake, his thumb tracing lazy patterns on your palm.

"hey," you whispered, careful not to wake kirishima. "thanks for not giving up on us."

bakugo looked at you, those fierce crimson eyes softening in a way they only did when he was with you and kirishima. "as if that was ever an option," he murmured. "just don't scare us like that again, got it?"

"got it," you promised, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "next time i need space or help, i'll just say so."

"good," he nodded, then added quietly, "i missed you."

coming from bakugo, those three simple words meant everything.

"i missed you too," you whispered back. "both of you."

"we know," he replied with that rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. "now get some sleep. shitty hair here has already drooled on your shirt."

sure enough, there was a small damp spot on your shoulder where kirishima's head rested. somehow, even that was endearing.

with a contented sigh, you closed your eyes, surrounded by the warmth of your boyfriends. the last thought that crossed your mind before sleep claimed you was that maybe, just maybe, bad days weren't so terrible when you had people who loved you enough to chase after you with flowers and pastries, even when you pushed them away.

and maybe next time, you'd just ask for that hug you needed right from the start.

the next monday, the change in atmosphere was palpable. as you walked into class flanked by your boyfriends, kirishima's arm draped casually over your shoulder and bakugo's hand intertwined with yours, a collective sigh of relief swept through the room.

"thank god," kaminari whispered loudly to jirou. "i couldn't handle another day of bakugo being even more explosive than usual."

"shut it, pikachu!" bakugo growled, but there was no real heat behind it.

mina gave you a thumbs up from across the room, and even todoroki seemed quietly pleased by the restored harmony.

"i guess we were pretty obvious, huh?" you whispered to kirishima as you took your seats.

"extremely," tsuyu confirmed from the desk behind you. "the whole class was walking on eggshells. kero."

kirishima laughed, the sound warming your heart. "sorry about that, guys! everything's manly and awesome now!"

as aizawa shuffled in to start homeroom, you felt bakugo's foot nudge yours under the desk. when you looked his way, he was staring straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a small, private smile meant only for you.

with kirishima's radiant grin on one side and bakugo's quiet affection on the other, you knew that no matter what bad days might come, the three of you would weather them together.

and maybe next time, you'd just ask for that hug you needed right from the start.

taglist: [open]

mutuals

@https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @gh0st-g1rll @luvseraphh

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killiaia · 5 months ago

Text

PHOTO SHOOT.

Rosé x male reader.

When Rosé asked you to accompany her to her photo shoot, you immediately agreed. You're happy she asked you.

Of course, you feel out of place in the middle of it all, but when Rosé flashes you a smile between photos, you're right at home.

Rosé is absolutely gorgeous. The photos are superb and Rose was definitely born for this kind of thing. It's natural for her to pose. You wouldn't be able to do all that, it would be far too embarrassing.

What's also embarrassing is the fact that you have a boner. Which is perfectly normal when you see the kind of clothes Rosé poses in. Everything she's got on is tight. The clothes she's wearing are tight, and that makes her curves stand out.

You're trying hard to hide the fact that you've got a hard-on, but of course you've got tight jeans on, which makes your dick stand out.

It would be a shame if anyone saw that. What would you look like?

But that's your body reacting like that. Rosé is beautiful and your dick thinks so too.

You do everything to hide it. You put your hands in front but it doesn't feel natural. You try to hide behind things but every time you're asked to leave. You can't sit down and cross your legs, the jeans are too tight.

You watch Rosé go off to change and you wait. But you think the Lord wanted to test you today.

A few minutes later Rosé emerges and your eyes widen. Rosé is dressed in a pink top, but it's the mini shorts that make your mouth drop open. More precisely, what's underneath the shorts.

Rosé spins around and you notice that her buttocks are sticking out of the shorts.

God, Rosé looks sexy in those. If she'd worn those just for you, you'd have fucked her so hard.

And that's when it's hard for you. Rosé carries on with her photo shoot as if nothing had happened, while you're having a hard time of it.

When Rosé leans forward a little and her buttocks stick out, you're forced to bite your fist. You reach a point where you look away.

When the photographer announces the end of the photo shoot, you almost cry.

Happily, Rosé comes over to you. Before you know it, it's just the two of you and Rose has reached your full height.

"Did you like it? "Rosé asks you innocently.

With a wave of your finger, you ask her to come forward. Rosé listens, but you can see she's wondering.

“Give me your hand. "

Rosé holds out her hand and you grab it. You can see she's lost. You put her hand on your cock and Rose's eyes widen.

"Does that answer your question? "

Reddened cheeks, you see Rosé flash a sexy smile. The young woman turns her back to you and what she's doing almost makes you moan.

Rosé leans forward, giving you a magnificent view of her ass. Rosé spreads her shorts with her hand and it's a good thing you've got self-control, otherwise you'd have fucked her right here.

However, you grab her hips and pull her to you. Rosé straightens up and you attack her neck with a kiss. You run your hands over and knead both her breasts. Rosé moans but you silence the moan by turning her face and kissing her. Rosé sticks her buttocks to your cock as you kiss her.

"I feel your cock against me.

"I want to fuck you. "

“Do it. Fuck me. "

You run your hand down to her shorts and trace the folds of her pussy.

"You're so fucking wet."

"Just for you. "

With your other hand you turn her face and kiss her while you insert a finger into her pussy. Rosé moans into your mouth and you feel her hand caress your cock through your jeans.

"If it were up to me, I'd have fucked you from the start of this photo shoot. “

Rosé grabs your face and deepens the kiss as you insert a second finger inside her. You accentuate the pleasure by kneading one of her breasts. Between your fingers you grab her nipple and pinch lightly. Rosé clings to you, seeking the friction between her ass and your cock.

"You're going to cum here and then we'll go to your dressing room and I'll fuck you in these shorts. "

Rosé wants to say something but you insert your fingers into his mouth. Rosé licks your fingers and you concentrate on fingering the singer's pussy.

Rosé tries to mumble something like "I'm going to come" but you don't care. You continue to pleasure her and after a few seconds your fingers are expelled from her vagina and Rosé lets out a hoarse moan. You grab her and carry her so she doesn't fall over from the orgasm and Rose puts her hands around your neck and trembles.

"Good girl. Kiss me."

Rosé raises her head and kisses you.

"Now let's go to your dressing room and I'll fuck you."

"Please. "Rosé says gently.

Still with Rosé in your arms, you walk towards the singer's dressing room. Rosé takes the opportunity to kiss your neck.

You open the door and gently put Rosé back down.

"Hands on the wall, I'm going to eat your pussy"

Rosé lets out a groan and moves into position. She places her hands on the wall and arches her back slightly, giving you a magnificent view.

You lick your lips and come up behind her. You glue your pelvis to her buttocks and Rosé immediately looks for friction.

With your hand, you knead her buttocks, which peek out from the shorts. You kiss Rosé on the neck and she turns to kiss you. You respond to her request and kiss her. Rosé inserts her tongue into your mouth and you accentuate the pressure on her buttocks with your hand. With your fingers, you pull her shorts apart and begin to touch her pussy. You stifle a moan from Rosé and insert a finger inside her.

After one last kiss, you kneel behind her. You push aside her shorts and the sight of her ass makes your mouth water.

Her pussy looks so good you waste no time and with your hands, you spread her buttocks and lick her pussy

"Fuck yes." Rosé swears.

With your tongue you trace the lines of her pussy. You lick her folds and hear Rosé moan. You flick Rosé's vagina with your tongue and Rosé flicks her pelvis to increase the pressure. With both hands you grab her bottom and insert your tongue into her pussy hole. Rosé has to catch herself on the wall, it's so good.

"I love it so much when you eat my pussy",

"Your pussy is so wet. "

You run your hand along the front and find Rosé's clitoris. Gently you put pressure on it and Rosé lets out a moan.

With your tongue in her pussy hole and her clit between your fingers, the young singer is just a mess.

You feast on her pussy. You don't stop. You have only one goal in mind: to make Rosé cum. Rosé is almost pressed up against the wall by the pressure you're putting on.

But it doesn't bother her, on the contrary, Rosé is so happy. When you withdraw into your tongue, Rosé wants to protest but her protest dies in her mouth when you insert two fingers into her pussy.

"Yes baby. Finger me."

You listen to your girlfriend and speed up the pace of your fingers and Rosé slams her head against the wall and spreads her ass.

"Can you lick my asshole while you finger me? "

You accede to your girlfriend's request and start licking her hole.

"I'm about to cum. "

Youfeel Rosé tremble and you stand up to catch her.

You press her against you and Rose trembles against your chest.

"What a good girl. "

Rosé turns to you and kisses you passionately. She grabs your face and slides her tongue into your mouth. With your hands, you knead her buttocks and Rosé lets out a moan into your mouth.

"Hands against the wall. I'm going to fuck you. "

After one last kiss, Rosé turns around and resumes the same position as before. You see that the young woman wants to take off her shorts but you stop her.

"Keep the shorts on. "

Rosé nods and you undo your belt and pants. Your erection is finally free.

With one of your hands, you spread the shorts and with your other hand you guide your cock to her pussy.

You tease Rosé. With your cock you trace the lines of her pussy.

" Baby don't tease me. Just fuck me. "

“You've been teasing me all afternoon. I'm entitled to a little fun, aren't I? "

You slide your cock between her thighs and Rosé moans at the contact.

"A Tightjob? " Rosé asks sensually.

"Why not. "

Rosé listens to you and starts going through the motions. The sensation is too good. You watch your cock disappear between Rosé's thighs.

You also feel her pussy juices against your cock

. "My cock is so wet. It looks like you're enjoying it just as much as I am. "

Rosé doesn't respond, she's far too focused on her task.

With your hands, you grab Rosé's hips and help her make the move.

Rosé's buttocks slap against you and you decide to kiss the young woman on the neck, causing her to moan.

"Put your cock inside me. "Begs Rosé.

"Why? I'm fine between your thighs." You answer slyly.

" Because I want you to fuck me against the wall like the slut I am in these shorts and then I want you to fill me with cum. "

You stop all movements and Rosé may have said something stupid. She wants to say something but you've just penetrated her and Rosé has to hold on to the wall so she doesn't fall.

You've entered her like an animal. Rosé's words have been like an aphrodisiac, and all you can think about right now is fucking Rosé.

And that's what you're doing. All you hear is the sound of flesh against flesh and Rosé's cries of pleasure.

Her hips in your hands, you pound the singer's ass.

"You fuck me so good…”

With one of your hands, you slap her ass, garnering a cry of pleasure from the singer.

"Fuck, I really am your bitch. I'm so addicted to your cock. "

Rosé lets out a little cry of surprise as you grab her and place her still on all fours, but this time in front of the mirrors.

With your hand, you grab her hair and force her to always straighten your cock inside her.

"Look at yourself in the mirror. Look how beautiful you are when you take my cock. "

Rosé looks at you both in the mirror and the sight is erotic. With your other hand, you pull out one of her breasts and Rosé moans at the sight.

"Look at your beautiful breasts."

You turn her on her side and tell her to look at the mirror. With this view Rosé sees you penetrate her.

"Look at that, Rosé. Look how easily my cock enters you. Your pussy was made for my cock. "

“I'm going to cum! "Said Rosé.

"Oh but I'm counting on it yes. You're going to cum on my cock and then I'm going to fill you up so much. "

Rosé, holding herself with one hand on the edge of the make-up plane, puts butt strokes in to deepen the penetration.

With one of your hands, you pull her hair and with the other hand, you slap her ass.

Stimulated in several places, Rosé cries out in pleasure and you feel her vaginal walls contract around your cock.

Rosé is taken by surprise when you lower your hand to her clitoris. You pinch it gently before starting to touch it.

It's only a matter of minutes before Rosé comes. And it happens faster than expected.

The pleasure is too much for Rosé and you feel your cock being ejected from her vagina. But it's not like usual, Rosé has just squirted.

It's the first time it's happened and Rosé can't get a word in edgewise. She alternates between moaning and nervous laughter.

"Wow." You reply.

"I...it ne..never..ha.. happened..before.." manages to articulate Rose.

"And it will happen later. "

Rosé turns her head towards you, but a wave of pleasure overtakes her. You penetrate her again and the singer lets out a moan.

"I'm still sensitive..."

"I know. "

You don't give Rosé time to respond and resume the same rhythm as before. You're not going to last long.

Rose's pussy is far too wet and it's only after several strokes that you pour yourself into her.

Rosé stands against the make-up table and you stand back, admiring your art.

Rosé is bent over the table, your cum pouring out of her pussy. You slap her ass, eliciting a small cry.

"If all photo shoots end up like this, I should come more often." You say.

"You SHOULD come to all my photo shoots from now on. "

With your hand you knead one of her buttocks.

"With pleasure. “

#kpop #kpop smut #smut #male reader #male reader smut #roseanne park #rosé smut #kpop blackpink #blackpink smut

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moonchild9350 · 4 months ago

Text

Your Canvas

summary: Hyunjin entrusts you with his look for the show and what is in store afterwards.

pairing: idol!Hyunjin x fab!reader

genre: fluff, smut-18+MDNI

word count: 1.9k

warnings: teasing, fingering, nipple play, dirty talk, unprotected sex (don't), creampie, squirting, use of term princess, hyunjin is kinda a soft dom

notes: a short fic to help me get out of my slump and also versace buzzcut hyunjin lol

If you enjoyed please like, reblog, comment ♡

please do not copy, translate, modify, or use elsewhere without my permission. ©️moonchild9350 (2025)

General Masterlist

Your paintbrush traveled over the fuzzy blond strands, the black paint forming the letters to spell Versace. You were helping Hyunjin get ready for the show, offering to help him paint the phrase and its design on the sides of his head.

However, the man was out to make the task difficult as his arm was wrapped around your waist, his large palm flat on your ass as he squeezed the flesh every now and then. Each time it occurred, you felt your pussy clench, your arousal soaking your panties as you took in his little smirk.

“Are you okay love?” Hyunjin teased as he looked straight ahead not daring to turn around and mess up your work.

“Mmhmm. But if you want your designs to be perfect, I need to focus.”

“Well focus love, what’s stopping you?”

At that moment he squeezed your ass again and this time his hand sneaked its way under your dress, his fingers teasing your folds briefly before withdrawing them.

You breathed in and out, trying to ignore his teasing and focus on what you were doing and somehow you were able to finish. You stood back to admire your work, the large, black words sticking out on his blonde almost white hair.

“Done,” you said in triumph as you set your paint brushes down on the counter.

You gasped as you suddenly felt Hyunjin wrap his arms around you, pressing your body against his front.

“Thank you love,” he murmured as he pressed wet kisses down your neck and ran his nose up just to nip at your ear.

You could feel his semi-hardened cock pressed against you, the need to have him take you then and there getting stronger with each second. However, he had places to be and with every last bit of resolve you pulled away and began fixing your dress.

“We have to go. Everyone is waiting on the prince.”

Hyunjin eyed you, his brown eyes taking in your body, how your dress hugged your curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. Normally he’d let his possessive side show and have you change, not wanting anyone to see what’s his. But tonight, he’ll let it slide as he wants everyone to see who he’s going home with later on.

He runs his fingers through the short strands and smiles before grabbing your hand to lead you out of the room and to the show he looks forward to all year. — — The night went well. Many fans attended to see the prince himself while anybody who is somebody made their way to the venue. Hyunjin mingled with the others, always having you in tow, a hand placed gently on your lower back.

You were a little tipsy from the flutes of champagne you knocked back throughout the night leaving you feeling horny and needy for Hyunjin. Every time you eyed his hair, seeing your handiwork on his buzzed head, you silently moaned or when he eyed you with a knowing look, his tongue darting out to lick his plush lips, your walls clamped down around nothing, more arousal seeping out of your pussy and onto your thighs as the fabric of your panties was ruined.

Time passed however, more drinks were passed around, and before you knew it, Hyunjin was bidding everyone goodbye and leading you out of the venue. He was silent the whole way to the car, a soft smile on his face as the few stragglers who were outside yelled his name and snapped his picture, the camera flashes lighting up the night.

You were like a dog in heat, needing to be touched by your lover in however way he saw fit. You squeezed your thighs together over and over, seeking friction and therefore giving you some relief, but Hyunjin just lightly slapped your knee, signaling for you to stop.

Hyunjin was hard, incredibly so, his cock straining against his pants painfully. He never was not hard, not tonight as he kept thinking of you in that dress, your eyes on him, eye fucking him every chance you could get. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on you, ravage you, and worship you.

Once at the hotel, he whisked you away, both of you in a hurry to be within the confines of the four walls of your room. The door slammed, causing the items on the dresser to vibrate.

Before you knew it, Hyunjin had you on your back as he hovered over you, his eyes gazing at you with a sultry gaze.

“Fuck my princess, you need me don’t you?” He smirked as he slowly leaned down to press his lips to your collarbone.

You moaned and ran your fingers through his hair, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the feel of the fuzz against your fingertips and his lips on your skin, slowly licking and sucking the flesh until you were squirming beneath him.

“I need you,” you whimpered, bucking your hips into his, groaning when you felt his cock against your thigh.

Hyunjin chuckled and stood up, leaving you shocked and gazing at him. He stripped himself of his jacket, the purple leather sliding to the floor and began to slowly rid himself of his shirt and pants as you watched silently.

Before ridding himself of his boxers, he cocked his head and asked, “Why are you still lying there? Don’t you want me to bend you over and have my way with you? Fuck you just the way you like until your begging me to let you come?”

You felt a flutter run through your body, the heat settling in your core. You scrambled off of the bed and slipped your dress off, baring yourself to Hyunjin. Your chest was heaving as you breathed, your nipples hardened as you stood there in just your panties. Hyunjin’s eyes roamed down your body as he smiled in approval at your obedience.

You gasped as he brushed his fingers over your nipples, barely touching them to tease you. You bit your lip as pleasure cascaded down your body, as he toyed with your breasts in a way only he knew how to do. His eyes met yours, his pupils dilated and filled with lust.

His hands dropped and you gasped at the lack of sensation, wishing he would touch you again. You didn’t have to wait long as he grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the dresser and bent you over. You heard him discard his boxers and slide your panties down your legs, leaving them to pool at your feet.

You let out a moan as his fingers ran through your folds, over and over, the pad of the digit rubbing your clit every now and then. The sound of your arousal filled the air, causing Hyunjin’s cock to twitch as more pre-cum leaked from his reddened tip.

“Look at me love. Look in the mirror right at me.”

You lifted your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze in the large mirror hanging above you. He smiled as he massaged your ass, his other hand stroking his cock slowly.

“I want you to look at me when I fuck you,” Hyunjin purred.

You shook your head okay and pushed your hips back, moaning when you felt the tip of his cock on your flesh.

“Ready love? Remember eyes on me…”

You let out a moan as he pushed inside, his cock spreading you open with each inch. Hyunjin was a site to see as he threw his head back briefly and then caught your gaze again as he began to thrust into you, hard and fast. You felt full, his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over, pushing you toward that feeling of sweet ecstasy that you’ve been craving all night.

Hyunjin panted as he gripped your hips tighter, his eyes glued to your ass as he watched your pussy take his cock perfectly and the flesh jiggle against him with each thrust. He loved your pussy, how tight and warm it was around him, how it made him feel as if he was losing his mind. He reveled in the thought that it was his, all his.

You felt that familiar sensation start to bubble causing you to clench around his cock. Hyunjin noticed the change, how you clenched around him, how your moans turned to shaky breaths and how you met his thrusts by shoving your hips back onto him, trying to reach your peak.

Hyunjin suddenly withdrew his cock, your cries of dismay reaching his ears. He pulled you up and then maneuvered you to the bed, laying you on your back before spreading your legs wide open.

His eyes feasted on your pussy, taking in your swollen folds, slick with your arousal. He licked his lips when he saw your clit, so engorged it was peaking out between your lips. Hyunjin lifted your chin so your eyes were on him as he spit on your pussy, the saliva hitting perfectly on your clit causing you to gasp before the liquid traveled down your folds and to your entrance.

You watched as he gripped his cock once more and sheathed himself inside you, leaning down against you to get as close as possible. He snapped his hips once, twice, nice and hard to the point where your body jolted upwards against the sheets as you let out a huff.

He kept that pace, deep and hard before speeding up, that pleasurable feeling quickly building up within you once more. You traced your fingers against the word Versace you painted earlier in the day, listening to the soft grunts your lover let out at your touch.

“Mmm such good pussy. Been wanting to fuck you all night love. M’wanted to fuck my princess.”

“Ah Hyunjin!” You whimpered as you continued to run your fingers through the tendrils of hair, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull you closer.

You were close to your high, the feeling intensifying with each thrust. You slowly breathed, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure, to the warm feeling that began in your belly before traveling all the way down to your core, to your legs, even to your toes. The bubble grew slowly and intensely to the point that you felt overwhelmed.

“Are you going to come on my cock love? Well you be a good little princess for me?” Hyunjin cooed as he eyed you, recognizing the look you make when you’re close to orgasm.

“Yes, gonna come on your cock…gonna..” But your words were caught off as you came hard, your release dripping out of your pussy and onto Hyunjin’s cock and the sheets below. Your vision blurred and your hearing diminished as he continued to fuck you, dragging his cock in and out in and out until he gave a strangled cry and stilled his hips, his seed painting your walls.

Hyunjin let out a shaky breath and collapsed next to you, pulling you to his body. His eyes roamed your face, taking in your spent face that was filled with love. His eyes fluttered as you reached out to trace the design on his head, a soft grunt coming from deep within his chest, almost like a purr.

“I did good,” you said as he returned his gaze to yours.

“You did, it’s definitely a painting fitting for a prince.” Hyunjin murmured as he drew small circles on your hips.

You couldn’t agree more.

divider by @strangergraphics

taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @katsukis1wife @my-neurodivergent-world @hanniebaeee @hwanghyunjinismybae @channiesrightasscheek @skzdreamer13 @lezleeferguson-120

#stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #skz smut #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids fluff #hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x you #hyunjin x you

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digitaldaydreamm · 4 months ago

Note

For the helping out ‘unspoken claim’ could u do an afterwards maybe? like ever since then reader is sooo like wtf did we do and she tells him it’s better if they forget ab it and then when rafes all frustrated cuz not only is he like IN LOVE W HER but he’s also like sexually completely attracted to her so she goes like if ur mad cuz I didn’t give u head back I could do it now?? And he’s like WTF it’s not even ab that? It’s the fact that I’m in love w u batshit crazy?(in his mind) Ik this is long but this is soooo them omg😭😭

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | you tried to act like nothing happened...

warnings: cursing, mentions of a blowjob

a/n: i mixed this request with the one i accidentally deleted, i hope it's okay!! also i didn't add rafe admitting his love... yet. saving that for later ;)

part 1 part 3 masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

You didn’t think about it.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You kept things normal. Rafe was still Rafe. You were still you. Nothing had changed.

And if your skin prickled when he stood too close, if your breath hitched when his fingers brushed yours, if your mind wandered back to that night more times than you’d ever admit—well, that was your problem.

Not his.

So you did what you did best. You smiled. You joked. You teased him like always.

And Rafe?

He was going insane.

It had been three days. Three days of you acting like he hadn’t had you trembling beneath him. Like he hadn’t heard those breathless, wrecked moans of his name. Like he hadn’t felt your fingers tightening in his hair, your thighs squeezing around him, your entire body shattering under his touch.

You just carried on. Completely unfazed.

It was driving him fucking feral.

The worst part? You weren’t avoiding him. If you had been weird, awkward, shy—he would’ve known you were thinking about it just as much as he was. But no. You were still hanging out, still texting him dumb shit, still laying on his bed like nothing happened.

Like right now.

You were scrolling on your phone, one leg tucked under you, absentmindedly flipping through Instagram while Rafe sat at his desk, pretending to do something—though he hadn’t typed a single thing in the last ten minutes.

Because all he could do was watch you.

Meanwhile, you were completely unbothered.

And when you let out a small hum, stretching slightly before tossing your phone onto the bed, looking over at him like nothing was wrong—he finally snapped.

Rafe pushed away from his desk.

The chair scraped against the hardwood as he stood, crossing the room in just a few long strides.

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your ankle, yanking you toward the edge of the bed.

Your phone tumbled to the floor with a thud as you yelped, eyes flying to his. “Rafe—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His voice was sharp.

Your stomach twisted.

You blinked up at him, feigning confusion. “Excuse me?”

Rafe exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face before gripping your wrist, yanking you up until you were sitting upright, forced to look at him.

“You’ve been acting like nothing happened.”

Your heart pounded.

Your lips parted slightly, but you hesitated—just for a second—before tilting your head, playing dumb. “Like what happened?”

His jaw clenched.

You swore you could feel the tension radiating off him.

“Don’t fucking play with me, kid."

Your stomach flipped.

You shrugged, forcing a small, nonchalant smile. “I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Rafe laughed.

The sound wasn’t amused. It was dangerous.

“Not a big deal?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief.

Your throat felt tight.

You shifted on the bed, but he was still standing between your legs, still looking at you like he wanted to ruin you, towering over you.

“I mean… you were just messing around, right?”

Something dark flashed in his eyes.

His hand shot out, fingers gripping your jaw—not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath catch.

“Is that what you think?” he murmured, tilting your chin up. “That I was just… messing around?”

You didn’t answer.

And that only pissed him off more.

He let out a low, humorless chuckle, his fingers dragging down your jaw before he dropped his hand entirely, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near you right now.

You hesitated.

Then, quietly, you said, “Well… if it bothers you so much…”

Rafe tensed.

You bit your lip, suddenly shy, suddenly not able to meet his gaze as you mumbled, “…I could, you know. Return the favor.”

Silence.

Your face burned.

You had never said anything like that before. Not to anyone. Not even to Rafe.

And you definitely hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

You peeked up at him, nerves tangled in your chest.

Rafe was staring at you.

Not in the way guys did when they wanted something from you.

No, he looked—pissed.

Fucking furious.

Your stomach dropped.

“Is that what you think this is about?” he asked, his voice eerily calm.

You swallowed. “I just thought—”

“No. No, you didn’t think, sweetheart.”

The nickname didn’t sound teasing this time.

It sounded like a warning.

Like he was barely holding himself back.

You bit your lip, shifting on your feet, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. “I just figured it would make us even…”

Rafe exhaled hard, tilting his head to look at the ceiling, his hands flying to his hips like he needed to physically ground himself.

You couldn’t tell if he was trying not to snap or trying not to laugh in disbelief.

He dragged a hand through his hair before finally looking at you again.

“Even,” he repeated, like he needed to hear it out loud.

Your face burned even hotter.

“…Yeah?”

Rafe took a slow step closer. His voice dropped, dark and slow.

“You think I give a fuck about being even?”

You stiffened.

You barely had time to react before he was right in front of you again, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“Is that what you thought it was?” he murmured. “Just some random thing we did, and now we’re supposed to trade favors to make it fair?”

You hesitated again.

Because when he said it like that, it did sound stupid.

And you suddenly felt really fucking stupid.

Rafe shook his head, voice still dangerously low.

“I don’t want a fucking blowjob, baby.”

Your breath hitched.

His fingers trailed down your throat.

“I want you to say something.”

Your lips parted. “Say what?”

His grip tightened just enough to make you shiver.

“That it meant something,” he murmured. “That you felt it.”

You were already shaking your head before you could stop yourself. “Rafe—”

His fingers ghosted along your jaw.

“You can pretend all you want,” he said, voice dark and sure. “But you know nothing’s been the same since that night.”

You swallowed hard.

He leaned in, lips barely brushing your ear.

“And the sooner you admit it,” he murmured, “the easier this’ll be for you.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Because he was right.

And you had no idea what that meant.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #obx #outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #obx kooks #rafe x childhood friend!reader #obx pogues #unspoken claim

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chrissv4mp · 3 months ago

Text

♫ YOU'LL ALWAYS BE A DUMB BLONDE

⋆ warnings. angst, mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicidal ideation, mental health struggles, hate comments, toxic fame, language.

⋆ synopsis. billie's getting older, more mature. guess that means she's gotta cut her blue hair off.

⋆ words. 3.4k

⋆ letters. this is either really good or really bad sooo idk, have fun reading & please keep the warnings in mind!

you remember the way her hair caught the setting sun that one day during the middle of summer—bright but not blinding, dark but not mistaken as black, just something... her.

billie's phone sat beside your head, your limbs sprawled out in the half-dead grass of some field in the middle of nowhere. billie just told you to keep driving, and you did—that's how you ended up here. her phone played some old beatle's song, just loud enough for billie to hear from a few feet away.

she was only seventeen, still a kid finding her way—figuring out if music was what she wanted to do the rest of her life, or if she should pick up dance again. a loose shirt fell over her shoulder, the breeze hit her skin, cooling her for just a second in the warm air of california.

a quiet thud caught your attention, head snapping over in the direction of the noise—only to be met with the sight of billie laying on her stomach, face in the grass.

she cackled a second later, rolling onto her back and looking up at the sky. hues of orange, pink, and blue were hidden behind the clouds, the sun quickly setting behind the mountains.

"d'you think i'll still be like this when i'm twenty?" billie asks suddenly, not looking at you as she reached out her hand to the sky.

you cock an eyebrow, sitting up on your elbows and chuckling softly, "blue haired and dramatic? absolutely."

billie scoffs playfully, brows furrowing as she scoots over to you, shaking her head and tossing a light-hearted glare your way.

"no, i mean... this lost. like i don't even know if i wanna go to college or not," billie hums, sighing softly and looking behind you at the open fields that went on for miles.

you straighten up quickly, tilting your head at her comment, "you're not lost, bil. you're just... still trying to figure yourself out. so is everyone else our age. that doesn't mean we're all lost, does it?"

billie glances at you again, taking a moment to process your words before she ultimately shrugs and nods slowly, laying back on the grass beside you.

the following minutes were spent in comfortable silence—and an occasional buzz from billie's phone. but then it just kept going, the notifications kept on coming in and with a frustrated sigh, billie sat up and reached over your body to grab her phone, pausing the music.

"i swear, if it's some stupid..." billie trails off upon seeing the real cause of the endless buzzing.

you notice the change in her demeanor and facial expression almost immediately, her shoulders tensing as she dragged her lip in between her teeth. her fingers twitched around the device, and she just kept scrolling and scrolling and scrolling—until you reached out and placed a gentle hand on her bicep.

her eyes drifted to you, the spark from earlier slowly fading as she bit her lip harder. a sigh of exasperation fell from between her full lips, her eyes shutting briefly.

"what is it?" you ask cautiously, sitting up so you could see her at eye-level.

billie shook her head tiredly, "just more stupid comments." she locked it. placed—more like threw—it face down on the grass. but not before you saw the words "childish" and "immature" flash on her screen in big letters.

"another one of those dumb hate pages?" you scoff, feeling your fists subconsciously clench tight, "fuck them, nobody's even paying attention to it."

though, by billie's silence, you knew it was quite the opposite. she dropped her hands slowly into her lap, fingers still twitching like she wanted to grab onto something to ground herself.

her silence was too long to be considered normal.

you reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face, fingers brushing against her cheek softly, "billie."

"no, it's all good," she says, brushing it off quickly, "they're right anyway. i am getting older, and the blue's gotta go sooner or later."

"but that doesn't mean it has to go now," you interrupt, "or ever, if you wanna keep it that way. if it makes you happy, who cares what they say?"

"i'm almost eighteen, dude." she laughs, but it's bitter. "this shit isn't gonna cut it any longer. my childish attitude, the way i dress. it's just—it's not—fuck."

your chest tightened at how upset she'd gotten herself. you knew she was changing. it was written all over her body—the taller frame, the sharper cheekbones, the way her eyes didn't sparkle the way they used to when a song came on that she loved. but that wasn't her fault. the media wanted her to be someone else before she was even done being herself.

"you don't have to change for them," you say, tone firm. "that's not how it works."

but she didn't answer, which began to be a common theme in your relationship after that point.

and i tried to hold her,

but it didn't really last long.

she's getting older,

i guess she's gotta cut her blue hair off...

"night," billie had told you, turning her back to you on her ride of your bed. she hadn't shut her eyes, didn't even try to get comfortable or move the pieces of hair that were tickling her face.

she just laid there and hoped you believed that she had gone to sleep. and you did, because you'd been believing it ever since the night you and billie had that conversation in the dead field.

but now, at the dark and uncomfortable time of two a.m., she was standing in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror and picking apart each of her features and personality traits that seemed childish, or stupid, or immature, or... her.

her blue hair looked more like a pale green in the dim, natural light of the night. she didn't bother turning on the lamp when she stepped in, not wanting to disrupt you and make you worry about her sleep schedule or well being.

billie bit her lip, heart stopping when she felt a lump in throat beginning to form. her hands clenched at her sides, eyes barely holding back the tears that threatened to form.

she was crying over nothing.

but nothing started to mean everything.

just the sight of herself after that night made her sick. every time she walked into a studio for a photoshoot or an interview and she saw her face on the magazines and tv, it made her want to scream, to tear down the posters and bash the screens.

the hate had only gotten stronger after that particular hate page began to surface. she saw more and more start popping up after their third post, and then it just spiraled from there.

when someone anonymous made a tiktok account with multiple posts telling her she should just hide away and die, it finally got to her. she couldn't take it anymore.

so, she clumsily reached around in every cabinet of your bathroom to find a pair of scissors. a sharp pain coursed through her fingertip when she reached in a cabinet of the far left of the counter, a hiss of pain escaping her.

it subsided quickly, though. and she couldn't be quicker to grab it and shut the cabinet with a quiet thud of the wood.

she glanced over into the bedroom through the small crack of the door, noticing that you'd rolled over onto her side of the bed. she just hoped you didn't notice her disappearance.

the blade pressed against her skin without her even noticing, eyes snapping back to her wrist only to see that she was applying pressure to her skin with the sharp metal.

her mind drifted, her heart pounded, and her breath hitched.

"billie!"

she flinches—no, she jumps. really jumps, like she was waking up underwater—when the lights turn on. her hand jolted, the razor scraping against her skin before it slipped from her fingers and onto the floor with a dull clatter. little droplets of blood surrounded it. not much—but enough for you to know exactly what she had done to herself.

you grab her wrist instantly, eyes wide. your mind was rid of any sleepiness or grogginess you might've felt before, the sheer panic running through your system enough to wake you fully.

blood was slowly trickling down her wrist, her skin jumping up in irritation from the scrape that followed after you startled her.

your voice was trembling, somewhere caught between frustrated and terrified. "what the fuck are you doing?" you whispered, chest rising and falling like you'd just sprinted a whole mile.

not a word came from billie.

you should've expected it, but right now? in this scenario?

you couldn't believe she had nothing to say.

her lips parted, dry and cracked, but nothing came out. her eyes were wide and glossy, like she was just as surprised as you were—but the tears didn't fall. not yet, anyway.

you reached over to the counter and grabbed a handful of paper towels, quickly pressing them against billie's cut and watching her attentively to see if you were hurting her further. you could feel her racing pulse even through the paper towels, could almost feel the way it skipped a beat.

"i didn't mean to—" billie gasps, like she only just learned how to breathe again. "i wasn't really gonna do it, i just—"

"you were, and you did, billie." you say, voice gentle but firm, leaving no room for billie to argue back. your heart broke.

then she tore her arm from your grip, stepping away entirely and beginning to search the cabinets for the scissors again. you furrow your brows in confusion and frustration, trying to reach out for her. but she pushed you away again.

with her quick, frantic movements, she was quick to find them. and, without any hesitation, began to cut wildly at the ends of her hair like she'd die if she went any slower.

"so stupid," she mutters under her breath, grabbing fistfuls of her hair, cutting them off one after another.

you stepped toward her again, and this time she didn't move back. she only paused her motions and looked at you in the mirror, "billie..."

"i don't wanna be her anymore." she breathed, voice shaking. "the girl with the blue hair. the weird one. the kid who can't grow up."

that's when the tears finally began to fall, sliding down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. she sniffled, a low whine dying in the back of her throat as she let the scissors falls from her hands and onto the floor with a loud clatter.

and she cried over nothing,

so there was nothing i could do

to stop her from cutting

her beautiful blue hair off...

her knees weakened, and she let herself sit on the edge of the bathtub, mind spiraling, body numb.

you slowly drop to your knees, the soft rug making the pressure lighter on your skin. your hands come up to rest on billie's own knees, drawing imaginary circles on her kneecaps.

"you still think i'm pretty?" billie murmurs through sniffles, eyes flicking to yours for barely a second before flicking back to the razor on the floor.

a soft chuckle slips past your lips. there was an obvious answer, but billie didn't know that. so, you scoot closer and pull her hands into yours, squeezing comfortingly.

"of course i do." you reply quietly, eyes trailing over the way blood seeped into the sleep shorts she'd stolen from you, "you'd be pretty even if you went bald, bil."

she laughed at that, a small, bashful grin turning up on her dry lips. you leaned up to kiss them, hands slipping away from hers to cup her face and bring her closer. she melted into you instantly, sighing softly, contently.

it was quiet after you pulled away, pressing your forehead against billie's and just taking in her presence. holding her. but then she stood up suddenly and walked back over to the counter, causing you to fall back to sit on your heels.

you stand up upon seeing billie lean over the counter and toy around with her hair. that's when she spoke.

"i think i wanna go blonde," billie whispers, voice genuine.

and now you're back at square one.

"not just the ends, though. the whole thing." she adds, glancing at you through the mirror with a soft, hopeful smile.

you exhaled slowly—not angry, just... sad.

because you knew what that meant. it wasn't just a color.

not for her, at least.

it was her way of finally surrendering. her way of saying that the media had won. it was a disguise. a way to shut out the version of herself that the internet had decided was too much, too childish, too loud, too her. it wasn't about wanting something new—it was about burying her old self.

"you don't have to do that, billie," you say gently.

she didn't reply. didn't even pay you any mind. she only picked up the razor and the scissors from the floor, setting them both in the sink before glancing back at you and walking out of the bathroom.

with every step, a blue strand fell from her head, making your heart shatter even more at the knowledge that her blue strands would be found everywhere in your room even after she dyed her hair again.

a reminder of the girl you lost.

there's really no way of winning,

if in their eyes,

you'll always be a dumb blonde...

you were scrolling half-awake under the covers when the notification hit your phone.

billie posted. your eyes drifted sleepily up to the top of your screen, thumb tapping on the notification out of habit before it went away. your breath caught.

not in a bad way, no, of course not.

it just caught you off guard—she was in the center of the photo, a light pink corset around her body, beige satin gloves that almost reached her shoulders, not smiling, not frowning, just staring into the camera, and most importantly, her hair was blonde. she was on the cover of vogue.

your thumb hovered over the screen, heart stuck somewhere between awe and ache. your eyes flit over to the caption.

billieeilish do whatever you want whenever you want. fuck everything else.

but you weren't the only one reading it.

there were hundreds of comments before it even reached the two minutes mark of being posted.

"damn, i liked her better when she wasn't trying so hard."

"blonde looks amazing on you!"

"crazy how fast she went from cool to just another dumb blonde."

"this isn't her. it's the industry."

"baggy clothing didn't work for the guys, now she's gotta go full on slut? pathetic."

"you guys seriously can never make up your minds. maybe she's finally free??? you guys are so weird."

the comments were a war zone. half of them applauding her for evolving, the other half clawing her apart like she'd just betrayed something sacred.

your frown deepens the more you scroll, suddenly not feeling very tired anymore. your fingers were twitching to type out responses, to argue that they didn't know anything about her.

then your doorbell rings.

and you know who it is immediately.

so you toss the covers off your body and let your phone get lost in the mess of the sheets before padding out of the room and down the hall until you get to the main room.

you unlock and open the door, only to be met billie. her blonde hair falling just above her shoulders, the porch light illuminating the little droplets of rain water on her face.

she steps into your house before you can even greet her, her breath already frantic and coming out in short, frustrated gasps for air.

"fuck," is all you hear when you shut the door and turn around to face her.

a loose hoodie was wrapped around her body, her hands pulling at the sleeves like they were cutting off circulation to her arms. her eyes were bloodshot, entire body trembling.

"bil, hey—hey, what happened?" you asked, stepping forward. but you knew. of course you knew.

but she backed away quickly, eyes shut tight and fists clenched at her sides.

"they're right," billie seethed, "they're fucking right—shit, i knew this was gonna happen. they think i'm a joke all over again, i knew—"

"billie slow down—"

"don't tell me to slow down," she snapped, eyes flicking to yours for a split second, "i can't—" her voice cracked, cutting her sentence short.

she pulled her hoodie over her head, tossing it onto the couch before pacing around wildly again. something still felt like it was suffocating her.

billie shook her head, looking down at her hands before clenching them back into fists, "i look ridiculous." but she didn't believe that. no, that's what they made her believe.

you tried to reach out again, taking a smaller step forward than the last. but she flinched back again.

"they're calling me names," she murmured, stopping in her tracks, "and it's more than before. some asshole said i looked like a dumb blonde." billie scoffed, "so what, i dyed my hair and now suddenly i'm a slut?"

she began pacing again—back and forth in the same spot—hands in her hair, tugging at the roots. her breath came quicker now, like the room was caving in on her.

"i hate this," billie whined. "i hate how this feels. like i'm not even in my own body. like everything i wear, everything i say—it's all wrong."

you finally stopped her, stepping in front of her so she couldn't go anywhere else. you grabbed her wrist, and she winced. but out of pain this time.

and i guess, i'll just miss her,

even though she isn't even really gone.

but things are just different

ever since she cut her blue hair off...

"billie, please stop," you begged softly. "you're gonna make yourself sick—"

"good, maybe they'll finally leave me alone," she spat, curling in on herself. "i never should've done this. i never should've posted it or even said yes to it in the first place. i should've stayed the same."

and that's when you finally snapped, the words slipping out instantly.

but you didn't mean for it to come out like that.

"i told you you didn't have to change!"

the words rang out like a slap in the face.

billie held her breath for a moment. the silence was so thick it made your ears ring, your heart pounding faster.

she looked at you. finally, really looked at you. and something behind her eyes shattered.

"so you think i changed too," she said, voice quiet now.

"that's not what i meant, billie, you know that." you argue.

"no, you did," she laughed, hollow. "you said it. you're exactly like them."

that made you drop her arm, fists clenching at your sides at her words, "no, i'm not."

"yeah, you are." she swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking back fresh tears, "you think i gave in. that i'm fake now. that i dyed my hair and put on some lace and stopped being yours."

"billie, stop."

"stop fucking telling me to stop!" she shouted, stepping back. "don't you get it? i was dying in that old version of me. i hated seeing myself on the big screens and in magazines. i hated looking in the mirror, hated even seeing myself in the reflection of the windows in my car. i hated the hiding. i hated how i never felt good enough. and now that i tried, now that i changed—everyone wants to kill me for it."

you walked toward her slowly, hands up like she might bolt away from you.

"i don't care what you wear, bil. i don't care what color your hair is. i just hate seeing you like this—tore to shreds over people who don't even know you."

billie's lower lip quivered.

"but they feel like they know me. they feel like they're entitled to me. they decide who i'm allowed to be."

"fuck them," you said, firm. "they don't get to decide anything. only you do."

she didn't say anything back. instead, she took a step forward and finally fell into your arms. her head hit your shoulder like a dropped weight, your hand slowly coming up to run through the tangled strands of her blonde hair.

you didn't say anything else.

because there wasn't anything that could fix it.

not now.

you just stayed there, holding her in your arms as her breathing slowed and her head nuzzled into your neck.

she was tired, trembling, torn apart.

but now all that you could do was help her find the way again. and hold her hand through it this time.

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @sturnsmia @moralesluvr @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @natbelovasblog @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @fawninlove @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @hkkuugu @eeuni

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themilfsland · 3 months ago

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Can we switch?

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: when you find out your bottom (or maybe not anymore) emo girlfriend was holding back her desires because she was afraid of her powers but you encourage her to let it all go.

Words count: ~ 3.7

tags | content: soft but smutty , bottom!Wanda (until it changes), top!reader (or maybe not this time), fingering, strap-on, magic cock, cum inside, possessiveness.

A/n: I've been thinking a lot about Emo Wanda unraveling her top side.

Time flies, as the elders say. It feels like just yesterday that Wanda joined the Avengers. She took the title of the youngest on the team, which meant you were no longer the spoiled one or the center of attention. In a way, that was a relief — Steve and Tony weren’t breathing down your neck anymore — but it probably also meant the last slice of cake wouldn’t be saved for you anymore. It's a shame, really, since you’d gotten used to the little treats Clint gave you after missions.

You remember the wary look in her eyes during that first week. She was like one of those black cats at midnight, always slipping away, avoiding interactions, and when she was forced to join group activities, she would linger in the corner of the room. "She’s still getting used to things," Steve would say. Besides, it would be hypocritical of you to criticize her behaviour — during your first month with the team, you were just about the most antisocial person possible.

Things were perfectly normal for you until Sam had the brilliant idea of suggesting you help Wanda with her training and power control. Great. Now the newbie who doesn’t even say "good morning" to you was going to be your responsibility. Of course, you tried to argue your way out of it in every possible way — how could the second-youngest — you — member of the group have enough experience to teach someone else? Unfortunately, nothing worked. The team agreed, and not even Natasha had your back this time. The reasoning was simple: you have the ability to control the elements of nature, so you were apparently the best choice to help Wanda learn to manage her powers.

And it was from that tutoring mission that you and Wanda really got to know each other, getting even closer and today marks one year since you made your relationship official. Clint bet it would take you a month to admit you were in love; Nat, knowing you better, gave it a few more months — you were way too stubborn to confess your feelings that easily. And the truth? You were already in love with her by the second week of training. Some people like to ask, "Who felt it first and who felt it deeper?" In this case, you were the first to realize your feelings for Wanda, but she was the one who ended up feeling them more intensely.

Although everyone still teases you about how rocky the beginning was — they used to say you were like a cat and a dog in a fight — now you’re more like two lovebirds. Honestly, you blamed her at first — she never listened to you, said your advice wasn’t helpful, and claimed you were being mean with your words. But over time, you started to realize how fragile Wanda really was — not in terms of strength, but when it came to her emotions and self-esteem. She was scared of herself; her own powers terrified her.

You were certain about her insecurity over her self-control during one of your training sessions. You had asked her to attack you — she hesitated and sent a weak pulse of her red energy. It had been days of you pushing her to really strike, but all you ever got was that same soft red wave. That’s when you decided to provoke her — bad idea. Your not-so-friendly words earned you a flash of her red eyes, and the next thing you knew, her magic had thrown you hard against the training room wall. You were on the floor, hand on your head, trying to process what had just happened when Wanda was suddenly above you, frantically checking for injuries and apologizing over and over. You could hear the panic in her voice.

After that day, you began to see her differently — with an understanding that no one else seemed to have. And Wanda knew it too — that you were the only one who could truly see her without needing to read her mind. It wasn’t something you had to work for; it was effortless — like the gentle pull of ocean waves, a quiet feeling between you both that grew stronger with each passing day.

Wanda didn’t change with everyone else — but she changed with you. The first time she let you take care of her bandage, the first time she asked for your help to practice a specific move, the first time she released her magic to strike without being afraid of hurting you — and the first time she let you kiss her.

You were the one feeling insecure that day. You’d always been confident, sure of your actions — but kissing Wanda? Your whole body was trembling beneath the surface. You were certain about your feelings — you loved her and wanted to be more than just teammates. But when it came to her feelings? That’s where the doubts crept in. Sometimes it felt like she was on the same page, but other times it seemed like she only saw you as a battle partner.

In the end, it was Nat who got tired of watching the two of you dance around each other with no progress. She gave you a push — with a hint of a threat — and gave you the courage to make the first move. Credit where it’s due — she was right. Despite the nerves, it all worked out in the end. Better than just good — way better.

---

"Are you two really going to eat all that?" - Nat asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Mmm, probably not, BUT that doesn’t mean you can have a piece," you said, spreading frosting on the last cupcake you’d baked. - "Maybe tomorrow, if there’s any left — and only because I’m a nice person."

"Hm, okay. Soooo..." - she ran her finger through the bowl of leftover chocolate frosting and licked it before continuing - "Do you think this is going to make it up to Wanda?"

"What do you mean by that?" - You knew exactly what she was referring to, but you decided to play dumb.

"Ah, Y/n. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone saw how Wanda was after that party on Saturday, at Stark's" she said, swiping a bit more frosting. "Oh, and all week long after that. So…? Are you two good?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know about Saturday and yes, everything’s fine," you replied in a cold tone.

"Y/n," —-she stepped closer, taking the spoon and cupcake from your hand. - "I know you. Just spit it out already. Better to say it here than let it blow up later with Wanda and make things even worse," she said, eyebrow raised.

You let out a deep sigh before finally starting to vent.

"Okay, so… I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? I mean, if anything happened that night, it was Carol’s fault, she’s the one who started talking to me and sticking close to me the whole time. Why can’t Wanda see that? She’s the one who started avoiding me and..."

Natasha put a hand over your mouth, cutting you off.

"Hey, slow down. Breathe. Let's see..." - Nat said calmly. - "I don’t think you did anything wrong, but maybe you could have handled it better. Carol was hanging pretty close to you, and maybe Wanda saw more than just that. You know your girl — she’s jealous. Very jealous."

You rolled your eyes, and Nat shot you a disapproving look.

"What? Are you gonna disagree with me?" - she smirked. -"You might have taught her how to control her powers better, but her jealousy? Nope. You can feel how crazy she gets inside when she sees you with someone else. Anyway, that wildcat is yours."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. - "I know you two will work it out and honestly, this is probably the perfect chance. Oh, and happy one year of having to witness you two being disgustingly in love. Also, pleaseee… try to keep quiet tonight. There are nights I can hear her saying your name — and not in a very cool way…"

"Natasha!! Shut up!" - you pushed her hand off your shoulder and gave her a shove. -"Go bother someone else. I need to finish all this before she gets back."

"Ohh yess, I almost forgot about her very important commitment today with my little sestra. They’re probably out shopping for some new toys for you two to play with tonight," - she teased, winking as she walked out of the kitchen, laughing while you cursed at her.

---

Everything was set. Pillows and a blanket neatly arranged on the bed, a side table stocked with snacks and drinks, the TV playing her favourite sitcom, and the wrapped necklace you had bought for her sitting nearby. With the busy mission schedule this week, you knew you wouldn’t be able to plan anything big — but that didn’t mean you were going to let the day go unnoticed. Even if it was a simple night, it was your night to celebrate.

"Hey, baby, I’m back," - Wanda announced as she opened the bedroom door. - "Oh, what do we have here? What’s all this about?" she said, stepping closer and you noticed she was hiding something behind her back.

"Mmm, I don’t know… what could all this possibly mean???" - you teased, playing along with her. - "You first — what are you hiding back there?" - you asked, pulling her by the waist until your bodies were nearly touching.

"Hey, that’s not fair! I asked first," - she said, trying to give you a menacing look — but you knew she always melted when it came to you.

"Uh-huh, let’s see what we’ve got here..." - in a quick move, you snatched the package from her hand. - "Hmm, it says: ‘For my love.’ Well, I guess that’s for me then." -You winked and started opening the package.

It was a photo album — filled with polaroids you had taken together throughout the year, memories that made your heart overflow with happiness.

"I love it. It’s so beautiful and special. You’re special! Thank you, baby!" — you didn’t give her a chance to respond, stealing a kiss from her lips.

"Okay, enough. Now, where’s my present?" - she broke the kiss, raising an eyebrow as she stared at you.

"I see… my girl is so demanding. Happy one year, my darling." - you held out your hand, offering her a small box and an envelope.

She asked for your help to put the necklace on while she read the note inside. It was a surprise trip after the mission season — you figured it’d be a good idea to take a few days off, away from the team. And of course, she loved the surprise.

Gifts exchanged, you both settled into bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms as always, sharing another moment of quality time together.

---

Wanda was restless. Not even half an hour had passed since you started watching the sitcom, and she couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes. You had already ruled out the idea that she was just trying to get comfortable — there was definitely something bothering her.

"Wands, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied curtly.

It was obvious something was wrong. You adjusted your position on the bed and sat up.

"Come on, baby, tell me. What’s going on? I know you're overthinking about something." - you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together and guiding her gaze to meet yours.

"I don’t know, it’s just that… I… you… you’re mine, right?" — there was uncertainty in her voice.

"What? Of course I’m yours — I’m all yours." - you let out a relieved sigh and a soft laugh, but you noticed that Wanda was still a bit tense.- "Hey, my love," - you gently cupped her chin, guiding her gaze back to you. - "There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m all yours — only yours."

Wanda didn’t say anything, her expression unreadable — until she leaned into you, closing the space between your faces, her lips brushing softly against yours.

The kiss intensified, laced with both urgency and desperation which only meant one thing: she was needy. But it wasn’t just that. Beneath the craving to have you close, there was something else — possessiveness.

Before you realized it, she was straddling your lap — one hand slipping beneath your shirt, nails lightly raking down your back, while the other tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. Her lips stayed locked with yours, not even breaking for air.

You knew Wanda's needs all too well. Ever since you both started exploring your sex life together, you began to notice the little details — not just the things she likes and doesn’t like, but also the different kinds of intimacy you two share. It usually starts soft — gentle touches and tender caresses — and eventually, by the end, it might get a little rough, but not that much. Sometimes, after a stressful mission, Wanda likes to use sex as a form of relief — and honestly, you’re not complaining. It’s rougher, faster, and deeper — a pretty damn good way to unwind. And then there’s that kind — when she’s overwhelmed with possessiveness, usually driven by jealousy. Oh, that’s the wildest one. She’s hungry, relentless, and won’t stop until she’s fully satisfied. Either way, whatever type it is, she’s almost always the bottom one — just a detail, since it’s never been a problem for either of you.

Then it clicked — you finally understood why she was acting with such intensity. It was about that party. About Carol. She was still thinking about it. Your thoughts snapped back to the present when you heard a muffled moan from Wanda. That’s when you noticed that she was rubbing against your thigh. You could help her out already, but you’ve always liked watching her need grow. So instead of letting your hand wander down, you slid it under her shirt, dragging your nails across her stomach until you reached her boobs, squeezing it over the bra.

She let out a louder moan at the feel of your hand on her skin, breaking away from the kiss to rest her face against your shoulder. A breathless "please" escaped her lips near your ear — her hips moving faster, desperately seeking more contact. It was hard to deny her when she begged like that — so your hand slipped lower, sliding inside her shorts.

When your fingers touched her wet folds she couldn't hold a pity whimper out loud. She kept her pace, rubbing herself against your fingers that were touching her clit — and you let her have a little fun, keeping your fingers still.

It took less than five minutes for her to start begging again — she needed more, she needed you. So you did what she wanted, you pushed your finger inside her cunt, she was so wet it slipped in at once.

And there she was your neddy girlfriend — right on your lap, desperate as her hips moved, seeking the most contact possible, moaning in your ear.

You thrusted your finger faster and deep but it wasn't enough. Then she placed her hand on your neck, and you felt her nails digging into your skin. She looked into your eyes, and you met that gaze — the red eyes — you knew exactly what it meant, she was reaching her climax. - "I need one more finger, pleasee. Don't stop. One more." - She begged between moans.

You acted right away, thrusting another finger, rougher — trying to sync your movements with her hips. She was close, you could feel and see. Her red eyes glowing, she always keeps those when she's desperate in need, when she's about to lose control — she just needs to release.

"hmm tasty as always" - you said, licking your fingers that were sticky with her cum.

She gave a shy smile, still catching her breath. You brushed a strand of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"Sooo, are we going to talk about this...?"

She stared at you, her expression hard to read, leaving you unsure of what was on her mind. Then, to your surprise, she grabbed the hem of your t-shirt and began to lift it in a gesture to take it off.

"I'm not done, I still need you" - she said while you let her finish taking off your t-shirt.

She gave you a look, and you nodded — you knew she would only talk normally once she was satisfied. She started taking off her clothes, and you stood up to finish taking off yours.

In a second, you were both naked. You reached the nightstand drawer to grab the strap-on and in a hurry, you started wearing, but before you could finish adjusting it, Wanda took your hand, making you look at her in confusion.

"I was thinking...maybe we could switch?"

You were surprised by what she asked, despite hearing the hesitation in her voice when she suggested it.

"Of course we can switch, baby!" - you took off the strap-on and reached out your hand to give it to her. -"Do you wanna help to adjust it?"

She took it from your hand but placed the object on the bed. - “I was thinking about try something different…” - You nodded as a sign that it was okay and she continued - "Soo... I learned how to get an enchanted strap-on but I'll be attached to my body so in theory I could feel everthing..." - she stopped and waited for your comment, you could feel she was a little anxious about it.

"That sounds awesome! What are you waiting for? Let's try it!" - your voice was full of excitement. Wanda returned a smile and cast her spell, and before you realized it, she literally got a magic cock.

"Oh my god, that's so hot." - You couldn’t hold yourself back. And neither could Wanda. She grabbed your arm, guiding you back onto the bed, and with one swift movement, you were beneath her.

She kissed you again, deep and intense, and you felt her desire stirring once more. Her hips started moving, pressing against your body and you could feel her hardness. You were so wet, ready to be filled up by her and her teasing was making you impatient.

"Wands please, I need to feel you inside."

She smiled with her lips still touching yours, getting a better position between your legs, and then you felt her cock pressing your entrance, slipping in slowly. You left a muffled moan.

"You are so wet already, baby" - she pushed all in and you felt your walls being stretched out. - "and you are so tight, you feel so nice."

You love Wanda in every way, but having her like this on top of you?, teasing you like that? It was definitely like paradise. Besides the new magic experience driving your mind crazy. It was so real and good.

She thrusted into you only a few more times at a slow pace but it wasn't enough. She gripped your waist and started pounding her cock faster. You were no longer able to control your moans - you needed her.

You felt her nails in your skin, her thrusts deeply touching your sensitive spot and you could tell she was feeling everything too. She got a rough pace and her eyes started getting red — the red eyes back. But suddenly, she slowed her movements, almost stopping, her hands now lighter on your hips and her thrusts steadier.

Something was wrong. You looked into her eyes — that now were back to normal, and placed your hand over hers resting on your waist. - "Wands? Are you okay? Something is not right I can feel it."

"Nothing is wrong." - She tried to ignore you, but you gave her a disapproving look. - "It's just... I don't want to hurt you." - her voice was low and you couldn't believe what she was saying.

"What? You will never hurt me. I want it all and..."

Wanda didn't let you finish. - "No, you can't be sure about that. You know how I get when my powers get stronger and it takes control of myself. I can't hurt you."

Now it was you who was ignoring Wanda’s words. In one swift movement, you wrapped your legs around her body, pulling her closer.

"I know you won't hurt me. It's okay to be insecure, but I'm with you" - Your hands squeezed hers and you continued - "Honestly baby, right now I need you. I need you to fuck me."

She locked eyes with you for a few seconds — it felt like you could hear every thought racing through her mind. But then her eyes started glowing red again. Oh, she was back — and so were her desires.

You felt her hand burning against your skin. Her movements getting faster, every thrust deep inside your cunt. You heard her moans mixed with your own.

Your walls tightened and she must felt that against her cock because she thrusted rougher — you knew the only thing on her mind this time was to fuck you recklessly. Your moans were desperate getting close to the edge, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

"You are mine, all and only mine" - she kept saying those possessives words, by every in and out moviment.

You got the orgasm together, your pussy tighter against her cock and you felt her cum spitting inside. You wouldn’t be lying if you said you felt all of her magic coursing through your veins. You felt full of her.

She rested her body on top of yours, your faces inches apart, and you could feel Wanda’s breath, still uneven. - "You were amazing, my love." - You said stroking her back and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. -"and so so hot."

"Maybe we should do this more often." - she smiled at you and stole a soft lips kiss.

"We definitely should. And without holding your magic back" - You cupped Wanda’s neck, pulling her face closer, and gave her a long, deep kiss.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fanfic #emo wanda maximoff #wlw #wlw post #lesbian #wanda x y/n #emo wanda switch #switch wanda #wanda mcu

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midnightquips · 18 days ago

Text

Dangerously Close

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky & Y/N are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way these two are getting together is with some extreme meddling.

Themes: mutual pining, teasing teammates, possessive Bucky, Thunderbolts chaos, friends-to-lovers-but-stupid about it, pining (a lot)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, PURE SMUT, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink

Author's Note: Thank you ALL for being amazing readers to the end of this story!!! ‪‪Hope to see you all in the next Bucky story ❤︎‬

💫 Dangerously Close Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Epilogue

You wake up warm.

It’s not just in temperature because Bucky is basically a human furnace, but in the kind of full-body comfort that usually follows one thing: being thoroughly, gloriously fucked.

You stretch slowly, muscles aching in the best way.

Bucky’s still asleep beside you, one arm flung across your waist, the other bent under his head. His hair is mussed, lashes dark against his cheeks, lips slightly parted.

You watch him for a long moment. He looks peaceful. Unbothered. Not a single trace of the tightly wound tension he usually wears like body armor. His arm around your waist tightens it when you move.

You blink. “Are you awake?”

“Have been,” he murmurs, voice gravel-soft. “Just didn’t want to stop touching you.”

You glance at him. “That’s new.”

He opens one eye, smirking. “No, it’s not.”

Your heart does that stupid flutter thing again.

“Morning, doll.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “Morning.”

You lie there a few more minutes, fingers tracing lazy lines over his chest. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he shifts closer.

Then he says, completely serious, “You’re not going to pretend nothing happened, are you?”

You look at him. “What?”

He swallows. “I won’t do casual. Especially not with you.”

Your chest tightens. “I don’t want casual either.”

His jaw unclenches. He leans in, kisses your forehead. “Good.”

Then, he pauses. “But... I also don’t want anyone knowing just yet.”

You ask, almost worried that this is what will burst the bubble. “Why not?”

He notices the pause.

“I want this to be ours for a little longer,” he says softly and assuringly. “Before the chaos. Before Yelena starts planning a wedding and Bob starts writing his best man speech.”

You chuckle. “Fair.”

“Just... a few days.”

You nod. “Okay.”

You press a kiss to his collarbone and slide out of bed. “But if we’re sneaking, you can’t look at me the way you did last night.”

He grins. “You mean like you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to ruin?”

“Exactly.”

It lasts four hours. Just four.

You walk into the gym like nothing’s changed. Your hair tied up, leggings on, a fresh water bottle in hand.

Bucky’s already inside, working the punching bag with his shirt off.

You are not prepared. Because the second your eyes land on him, your brain short-circuits. The image of those same abs pinning you to the mattress flashes behind your eyes like a sex tape on repeat.

You quickly turn away. “Control yourself,” you mutter.

Yelena, doing stretches nearby, raises a brow. “Talking to yourself already? That’s not a good sign.”

You wave her off, trying to focus on warm-ups.

It’s fine. You can totally act normal.

Until Bucky walks past and taps your hip with his metal hand. Just barely. Just enough for your brain to remember exactly what it felt like to be touched by him in much less appropriate places.

You nearly drop your water bottle.

Yelena blinks. “You okay?”

“Yep.”

“You seem jumpy.”

“Super fine.”

She squints. “Did you and Barnes finally bang it out?”

You nearly choke. “What?!”

“You’re twitchy. He’s smug. You’re both glowing. I’m not blind.”

“Yelena.”

She leans in. “I told you he wanted to climb you like a tree.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Yelena beams. “I knew it!”

By lunch, it’s no longer a secret.

Not because either of you said anything.

But because Bucky can’t stop staring. And touching. And hovering.

You’re in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes for sandwiches, when his hand brushes your lower back. Again.

And when you turn, he’s already looking at you, like he wants to eat you.

Bob enters the room, pauses mid-step, and makes a slow, dramatic “ooooooooh” sound. “Am I interrupting marital bliss?”

You glare. “Go away.”

“Oh no. This is so much better than I expected.”

Ava, behind him, blinks. “Did you two finally hook up? Or are we all just collectively hallucinating the sexual tension?”

You set the knife down. “I hate all of you.”

John strolls in last, looks at the group, then at Bucky, who is standing two inches behind you, doing absolutely nothing to not look possessive, and claps his hands together. “Called it.”

You groan. “Seriously?”

Bob grins. “Honestly, I assumed it happened the night you dropped the plate in the kitchen. That was foreplay if I’ve ever seen it.”

Yelena and Alexei finally enter, squabbling about anything under the sun like they do.

Yelena looks at the both of you, grabs a slice of cucumber, and smirks. “I’d like to thank the Asgardian alcohol for its role in this union.”

Alexei proudly smiles, “Is me. My idea. Always a win with this soviet technique.”

You point a tomato-slicked hand at the both of them. “You are both no longer allowed near divine liquor.”

“I’m just saying—” Yelena shrugs, “—you’re walking a little crooked today but still... smugger. Good dicking does that.”

“Yelena!”

Bucky doesn’t say a word.

He just leans on the counter beside you, arms crossed, smirking like a man who knows exactly what he did to you last night.

John elbows him. “Proud of you, man. Took you long enough.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it.

Bob sighs dreamily. “Finally. Now the sexual tension isn’t a health hazard.”

And then it happens.

You’re heading toward the training room when you pass one of the new recruits. He’s not bad-looking. Tall. Friendly. Probably harmless.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. “You got a second?”

You pause. “Sure, what’s up?”

He gives you a smile that might maybe be flirting. “Was wondering if you’d show me the modified grip Ava uses on her sparring baton. I’ve tried it a few times, but it’s… tricky.”

You nod. “Yeah, I can walk you through it—”

“Y/N.”

You turn.

Bucky’s there. His jaw tight, eyes darker than before.

He looks at the recruit, then at you. “Need you for something.”

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine. Come with me.”

You glance at the poor guy. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

He nods quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

You follow Bucky down the hallway. “That was kind of rude.”

He stops, pulls you into a supply room, and shuts the door.

“Bucky—”

His mouth crashes into yours. Hard & desperate.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “You hear me?”

Your heart stutters. “I wasn’t—”

“I don’t want anyone else looking at you like that. Talking to you like that. Thinking they have a chance.”

You stare up at him, breathless. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m fucking obsessed,” he admits, forehead resting against yours. “And I’m trying really hard not to start a fight with a kid who just wants baton help.”

You press a kiss to his jaw. “You don’t need to be jealous.”

He exhales slowly. “I know. But I am.”

You cup his cheek. “Then let me remind you who I’ll go home with.”

His eyes flash. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

You smirk. “Only a little.”

He kisses you again.

And somehow, you just know this sneaking around thing? It’s not going to last long.

It starts with a group text.

Yelena: “Mandatory team bonding. Tonight. Rec room. 8pm. No excuses. I will hunt you down.”

Bob: “Are there snacks?”

Yelena: “Yes. And emotional vulnerability. Be ready.”

You raise a brow when you read it.

Bucky, behind you on the couch, peeks over your shoulder. “She’s planning something.”

You sigh. “Of course she is.”

“Want me to fake a mission?”

You snort. “No. If we bail, she’ll just reschedule and make it worse.”

“She’s already making Bob bring a guitar.”

You blink. “What? Why?”

“No one knows. He doesn’t play.”

By 8:05, the entire team is gathered in the rec room.

Yelena’s set the tone with suspiciously cozy lighting, a table full of finger foods, and a playlist labeled “Accidental Feelings.”

Bob is tuning a guitar he definitely doesn’t know how to play.

John Walker has a beer in hand and a let me guess, someone’s getting engaged look on his face.

Ava has claimed the furthest chair from everyone and is watching with vague amusement.

Alexei is reminiscing about family dinners with Yelena.

You sit on the couch. Bucky sits next to you, trying not to be obviously close.

It doesn’t last long.

Yelena plops down beside you and smirks. “Why don’t we go around and share something we love about our teammates?”

You groan. “Oh no.”

Bob raises his hand. “I’ll start. I love how Ava only rolls her eyes at me seventy-five percent of the time now. That’s growth.”

Ava mutters, “It was eighty before.”

“See?” Bob beams. “Progress.”

John sips his beer. “I love how I’m the only one here who could probably still get a government clearance.”

Alexei tries to start but Yelena cuts him off by gesturing dramatically to you. “Y/N?”

You blink. “What?”

“What do you love about Bucky?”

You choke. “I–I don’t understand the rules of this game. Is this Truth or Dare?”

“Could be,” Bob says, already grinning. “Bucky, your turn. What do you love about Y/N?”

Bucky’s jaw flexes. You open your mouth to rescue him, but his voice interrupts you before you could even say a word..

“I love the way she feeds us like she doesn’t even know she’s the best part of this whole team.”

The room goes quiet. You feel your heart lurch sideways in your chest. And then, so casually it’s criminal, he takes your hand, right there, on the couch. In front of everyone.

No one breathes.

“Okay,” Bob says finally. “So we’re all pretending they’re not in love?”

Alexei claps thunderously, “Wedding bells are ringing!”

John raises his beer. “I’m happy for them. But also, I lost twenty bucks. Ava thought you two had been secretly dating for weeks.”

Ava shrugs. “I have eyes.”

Yelena leans her head on your shoulder and sighs dramatically. “Finally. Now I can die in peace.”

You bury your face in your hands.

And Bucky?

He’s still holding your hand. Still smug. Still acting like he didn’t just let everyone in.

Later that night, most of the group has cleared out. Ava’s gone to somewhere you never know. Alexei has to take a call about a pee wee baseball team being named after him. John and Bob are arguing over who would survive longest in a horror movie.

You and Bucky linger. He’s sprawled across one end of the couch. You’re tucked into his side.

“You forgot the secret part,” you murmur, voice low.

He tilts his head. “Did I?”

“Hand-holding. The speech. The eyes.”

He leans closer and kisses the side of your head. “Don’t care anymore.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I’ve spent weeks pretending I don’t want you. That I don’t need you. Honestly, I’m tired of pretending.”

You stare at him. “So what is this, then?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, he speaks softly: “Maybe something real.”

The words hit you like a warm breeze.

You slide your fingers into his. “Yeah. It is.”

He kisses you again.

And it doesn’t feel like a secret anymore.

It feels like a beginning.

Taglist: @killerwendigo @mrsnikolestan @starstruck-cowgirl @staley83 @wickedfun9 @sebastianstan0813 @yellowjm @geekandproud @Knowledgeableknitter @yvespecially @geek-and-proud @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky @Biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @jakesimper @danimuhle @marvelloonie @probablybucky @cozyjess @lana525 @watashiwababy @emilyswortwellen @maribirdsteele @amf71010 @sweettae02 @blackrigel @3sriracha @angelbabyange @stevetonycupcakes @buckyslefttooth @user6170171 @jasontoddswhitestreak @ifuckwithyouanyday @ficmeiguess @daydreamgoddess14 @schlattslonghairytoes @cheshiredobby @welcometomymadteaparty @twilyshy @marvel-addict23 @awkward-queer-kid @Sebastians-love @bbarnesbck @battymarie @hits-different-cause-its-you @snhoe

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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starkeyisthelastname · 11 months ago

Note

how would trailerpark!rafe act of he caught reader talking to a boy her own age?

he doesn’t like it.. which leads to some dirty sex to make you remember he’s the only one you need to be talking to. 💦

You’d be doing one of your normal cookie runs around the trailer park, little white basket in hand as you skipped along as happy as can be. The boy would live a few trailers down from yours, and he was about the same age as you. Your mind was constantly on Rafe, as you didn’t know any better but to be attached to him. Meaning you were oblivious to the boy’s flirting, just wanting to show him the treats you made. You were naturally a happy person, your pretty smile always flashing and thick lashes batting.

Rafe’s beat up pickup came to a screeching halt in front of the boy’s trailer as he saw you standing there, that punk’s hand practically about to grab your ass. He had ran around the corner to get a pack of cigarettes, and he pulls up to this shit. You were his, didn’t he make that clear? “Get in the truck now.” He called out to you without any emotion on his face, cigarette hanging between his lips.

You saw Rafe, meaning an excited smile lit up your face not knowing he was mad. You waved goodbye to the boy after setting a few cookies down for him and ran over to the truck to get in. Rafe zoomed off without another second, head turning to you for a brief moment before you could even speak. “Hey listen to me real good, yeah? No more givin’ your sweets and shit away around here. Got it?” He said, voice rough.

You heard him and immediately pouted, something you didn’t do very often but couldn’t help it as you didn’t understand. “But, why?” You asked, looking at him now as he focused on pulling into his trailer. He didn’t say a word, instead getting out of the truck and making his way up the crooked steps. Like the lost puppy you were, you scrambled out of the vehicle and followed him inside. “I’m talking to you!” You whined, stomping your feet a little as you walked behind him.

Rafe didn’t like attitudes and you learned that quickly along with why you weren’t aloud to talk to that boy or any boys for that matter anymore. “You are gonna cop a fuckin’ tone with me, after lettin’ that punk try and put his dick in you.” He spat, his massive hand coming down to spank your ass cheek as he pushed himself in. That was the furthest thing from what you were even thinking about when showing off your basket of cookies, he knew that. You were just so naive though and he couldn’t let that limp dick 20 year old even come close to touching your precious self. It was his job to ruin you and make you his little cookie baking trailer park house wife.

You squeaked as he slammed into from behind, your face down into the messy kitchen table. “This sweet cunt is mine. Remember that babydoll?” He gritted out, rough hands yanking head back as he fisted your hair. He began thrusting deeper into your tight hole, picking up his pace as the old wood began to creak beneath you. “You just go dumb on the dick, don’t you sugar? Can’t even fuckin’ speak after a few seconds.” He laughed breathlessly as he watched your beautiful face change.

Your delicate hands held onto the edge of the table, scalp burning as he continued to force your head back to meet his darkened blue eyes. Your mouth fell open, just to let out a gasp as he was so big and you couldn’t do anything but take it. He always made your tummy feel funny, even if you didn’t understand why. You just wanted to be around him all the time and do whatever he said.

“From now on, you don’t fuckin’ question me. If I don’t want you prancin’ around in skank skirts, battin’ your pretty eyelashes so that boys like your little neighbor you got over there thinkin’ they got a chance with you..” He rasped out, watching your eyes roll back as felt you start to clench around him. “Then you fuckin’ listen to me. The only person you bake your goddamn cookies for from now on is me slut.” His words filthy to throw you over the edge.

#rafe cameron #trailerpark!rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #rafe concepts #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #obx #obx smut #outer banks

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filthyjoelslvr · 26 days ago

Text

Window Seat (2)

Part 1

Content: Dbf!Joel x reader

Synop: Joel's been distant ever since the night he snuck into your house, into your room, to touch you in places you needed. His need for you overpowers him, making all his regret dissolve.

Warnings: age gap (not specified), pet names (praising, says slut once), use of daddy (once), no outbreak, unprotected PiV, oral (f receiving), praising, (might be forgetting some)

Word Count: 9k

(dividers by: @strangergraphics @cafekitsune)

It starts with the blinds.

At first, it’s subtle, almost invisible — something that could easily be brushed off. But when you’re sitting at your window, staring across the street like you have so many times before, it becomes impossible to ignore.

Joel’s blinds are completely shut.

For weeks, they’ve always been open — just a little. Enough that you could see the outline of his figure moving in and out of the living room, the occasional flash of him leaning over to grab a shirt from his dresser, or the silhouette of him sitting on his bed, watching TV after a long day. Those moments, however brief, had become your silent routine. His window was a steady, reassuring presence, something that felt like a connection, even when you weren’t close.

But tonight, the window is dark. Nothing. Not a hint of movement. Not a flicker of light.

You shift uncomfortably, leaning forward, your face pressed against the cool glass. Your heart beats a little faster, a strange fluttering in your chest that makes you pause. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing — that maybe he just wanted some privacy tonight, or maybe he’s been busy. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. You’ve been doing this long enough to notice the changes, even the smallest ones.

You glance at your phone, checking the time — it’s past 10 p.m. Now would be the time Joel would normally swing by after his long day. He always has some excuse, a reason to come over, to have a beer with your dad or to just hang out. But tonight, there’s nothing. No knock at the door. No text. No call.

Not a word.

You run your fingers over the glass, your thoughts growing heavier. He hasn’t been by in days. Not since that night — that night you can’t stop replaying in your head, a night that felt like everything had shifted. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, wasn’t it? A secret between the two of you. But then the silence settled in, stretching between you like a rift, filling the spaces with confusion and doubt.

You’ve tried to convince yourself that maybe he just needs space, that maybe he’s processing what happened. But the doubt lingers in your chest, tightening with each passing hour. You can’t help but feel like he’s avoiding you. It’s not just the blinds. It’s the lack of contact — no text, no call, no word of any kind. Joel, who used to be here, is now a ghost.

You force yourself to look away from his window, but your eyes keep wandering back. It’s like you can’t stop searching for him, even though you already know the answer. The emptiness in his house, the absence of him behind the blinds, is enough to settle the growing pit in your stomach.

You glance across the street again, wondering if maybe you’ve missed something. But his house looks different now — darker. Quieter. His truck, which is usually parked out front, isn’t there, and the street feels colder without it. When he’s here, even just parked in his driveway, it feels like the neighborhood is alive. But now, with his absence, everything seems still.

You glance down at your phone again. You’ve sent him a few texts in the past few days. Short ones, nothing too needy. Just simple things like, "Hey, you coming by tonight?" or "Haven’t seen you in a while, everything okay?" But no responses. No pings, no notifications, nothing. Just that unsettling silence.

Joel has always been the type to show up unannounced, the kind of guy who’d knock on the door without a second thought, asking for a drink or a place to sit after a long day. He didn’t need a reason to show up, not really. He was just always there, like a fixture in the background of your life. Even if he wasn’t there physically, you knew he’d be back soon.

But now? There’s an eerie stillness in the space he’s left behind. You don’t even remember when the last time was that he came by. Was it five days ago? Six? You can’t remember the last time you heard his gravelly voice, the last time you felt his presence in the house.

You try to call him, finally. Your fingers hover over the screen, but when you press his name, your stomach churns with unease. The dial tone rings longer than usual, echoing in your ear. He’s not picking up. No voicemail. Just the sound of the phone ringing and ringing until it goes quiet.

You try again, this time sending a quick text.

“Joel, hey. Everything okay? Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

Still no response. You feel the familiar, bitter sting of disappointment in your chest, but you push it down. You can’t let it get to you. It’s just… it’s just Joel, right? He’s probably just busy. He probably has a lot on his plate. The rational part of your brain tries to talk you down, but there’s a gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that tells you something’s wrong. Something is different.

You turn away from the window, pacing across the room. Your dad is downstairs, watching TV, blissfully unaware of the growing knot in your stomach. He hasn’t mentioned Joel’s absence yet, but you can see the change in him too. He’s been glancing at his phone more than usual, checking the time whenever he hears a car drive by. He’s used to Joel stopping by at least once a day, even if it’s just for a quick chat. But it’s been days now. Days without a word.

And your dad is starting to notice. Starting to worry.

“Hey, where’s Joel been?” he asked you earlier, in that nonchalant tone he uses when he doesn’t want to seem concerned. “Haven’t seen him around.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s busy.”

But your dad’s frown deepened. “Hm. Yeah. I guess so.”

There was an odd weight to his words, a note of suspicion that lingered in the air long after he’d moved on to something else. But you could feel it — he’s starting to wonder if something’s wrong.

You make your way to the kitchen, distractedly grabbing a glass of water, but your eyes keep flicking toward the window again, toward the empty, dark space where Joel’s presence used to be. The silence in his house feels like a physical thing, pressing down on your chest.

You haven’t seen him in days. You haven’t heard from him in days. And now his blinds are shut.

And for the first time, you realize with a sickening lurch in your stomach: Joel is avoiding you.

The morning light filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. You can hear the steady hum of the coffee maker, the clink of ceramic mugs being set down on the table. Your dad sits across from you, his usual worn flannel shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his face drawn with the lines of someone who’s been up for a while. The smell of fresh coffee lingers in the air, but it does little to mask the subtle tension hanging between you.

You glance at your phone absentmindedly, scrolling through a few messages that are all empty — nothing from Joel, nothing from anyone really. Just the dull buzz of notifications that don’t mean anything.

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet where your dad’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, and you can feel the unease in the air before he speaks.

“Y’know, it’s really weird about Joel,” your dad says, breaking the silence, his voice low but firm.

You look up, pretending like you didn’t notice it yourself. “What do you mean?”

He sets his mug down with a heavy sigh, fingers tapping absently on the ceramic. “I’ve been tryin' to get ahold of him for a few days now. He usually stops by, or at least sends me a text, even if it’s just to say he’s busy. But I haven’t heard a word from him. Not even a damn call.”

You try to hide your reaction, even though your heart skips a beat. Joel’s been avoiding you, and it’s clear he’s been avoiding your dad, too. You keep your voice casual, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “Maybe he’s just caught up with work. You know how he is, always busy with something.”

Your dad shakes his head, not convinced. “He’s been way too quiet. The thing is, when Joel’s tied up with something, he lets me know. He’ll text, or give me a call, something. Hell, sometimes he’ll even show up just to tell me he’s got a late one. But this… this feels different.”

You can hear the frustration in his voice now, the worry that’s been slowly creeping in. He’s always been laid-back, never the type to get too worked up over anything, but Joel’s absence has clearly unsettled him.

“He didn’t even send me a text to say he’d be gone for a while or that he was swamped. Just… nothing.” Your dad looks out the window, his mind clearly racing. “I’ve heard his truck leave in the mornings, and I’ve seen it come back in the afternoons. So, I know he’s around. But he won’t even pick up my calls. What the hell’s going on with him?”

You take a slow sip of your coffee, trying to maintain your cool. You already know what’s going on. The night still lingers in your mind, the way Joel left so suddenly, his words heavy with regret, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite read. But you can’t tell your dad that.

You set your cup down gently, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Don’t worry so much, Dad. I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just going through something. He’s not exactly great at reaching out when he’s in his head, you know that.”

Your dad looks at you, raising an eyebrow as if trying to gauge if you're telling the truth or just brushing it off. "Yeah, I know. But it’s just… not like him. Not this bad. Hell, he’s been over here almost every damn day since he moved into that house.”

He runs a hand through his graying hair, eyes narrowing in concern. "You sure you haven’t heard from him? Or seen him around?"

You shake your head a little too quickly, your voice a little too steady. “Nope. Haven’t seen him. But I’ll stop by after work and see if he’s okay. You know, just check in on him. I’m sure everything’s fine. Maybe he just needs a break from… well, everything.”

Your dad nods slowly, his lips pulling into a thin line. You can tell he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his mug again. "I guess you’re right. But I don’t know, something about this just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not like him to disappear like this, not without any kind of word." He pauses, staring down into his coffee. "I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been worrying more than I should."

You smile weakly, trying to ease his mind, though your own thoughts are racing. “You know how men are. They don’t talk about their feelings. You’d get more out of a statue.” You chuckle softly, hoping to break the tension, though it falls flat.

Your dad smiles back at you, but it’s tired, a little sad. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hate not knowing what's going on. But… I guess if you’re heading over there, it’ll give me some peace of mind."

"Don’t worry so much, okay? I’ll check in with him and let you know what’s up. Maybe he just needs some time to himself, and we’re all overthinking it." You give him a reassuring nod, even though a part of you knows it’s not that simple.

"Alright," he says, sighing heavily, his shoulders slumping as he leans back in his chair. "Guess I’ll just focus on work today, and you let me know how it goes. Appreciate it, kid."

You nod again, feeling a tightness in your chest. It’s all you can do to act like everything’s fine, even though the sinking feeling in your gut tells you that something is seriously wrong.

You finish your coffee in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. The weight of your dad’s worry is heavy in the air, and you know it’s not just about Joel anymore — it’s about your dad too. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him what you already know. Joel has pulled away, not just from you, but from everything.

An anger settles deep in your stomach. Joel can ignore you all he wants, leave you be, but bringing your dad into this crosses the line.

The sun’s just beginning to dip below the rooftops when you hear it — the low, familiar rumble of Joel’s truck pulling into the driveway across the street.

It’s later than usual. Much later. Most nights, Joel’s already home and settled by now, beer in hand, maybe a light on in the living room, TV murmuring softly through the window. But this time, the engine grumbles into your awareness like a ghost finally deciding to come home.

You freeze in place, caught mid-motion in your room, a book forgotten in your lap, your phone screen dimming beside you. Slowly, quietly, you rise and walk to your window, careful not to make any noise — like he might hear you from all the way across the street.

You pull the blinds apart, just a sliver, and there he is.

Joel Miller, climbing out of his truck with one hand gripping the top of the door and the other slinging his worn flannel jacket over his shoulder. The soft orange of the setting sun hits him just right — that low, amber light brushing his skin, catching the gray in his hair, outlining the curve of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his profile. He looks tired. Worn. Still so painfully good-looking it makes something twist in your chest.

He pauses at his front steps for a moment, glancing out toward the quiet street — not at your window, not at you — just a passing glance before he rubs the back of his neck and disappears through his front door.

No light flicks on in the window. The blinds stay closed.

You stand there for a moment longer, fingertips resting on the windowsill, your throat tight with something you can’t quite swallow. You should be angry. Maybe you are. But mostly, you feel… disappointed. Not because Joel pulled away. But because he didn’t even try to say goodbye.

You think about all the nights you’ve watched him from this same spot — the warmth you used to feel when you’d catch a glimpse of him moving around his house, the stolen glances, the tension that built in the space between your windows like static. And then, that night. The way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he whispered your name like it was something he didn’t want to give up.

You feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders like dusk. And you’re so damn tired of it.

With a shaky breath, you step back from the window. You tell yourself you’re just going over there to check in. That it’s what any good neighbor would do. That this has nothing to do with the ache in your chest or the unanswered texts or the way your heart clenched the second you saw him walk inside like you never happened at all.

You grab a hoodie from the back of your chair, pull it over your head, and slide on your shoes. You don’t give yourself time to second-guess it.

As you cross the street, the sun sinks lower, throwing long shadows across the pavement. Joel’s truck is still warm, the engine ticking softly in the cooling air. His porch light is off, the blinds unmoving — like the house is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

You climb the steps and hesitate at the door.

Your knuckles hover over the wood, your pulse pounding in your ears. For a second, you consider turning back. Going home. Pretending none of this ever happened. But the thought of another night of silence — another night of pretending Joel hasn’t become this unreachable part of you — is worse.

So, you knock.

Soft. Hesitant. But loud enough.

And then you wait.

The knock still hangs in the air when the door swings open — not fast, not welcoming — just enough to say what do you want?

Joel stands in the doorway, his shoulders square, one hand still gripping the edge of the doorframe like he hadn’t decided if he was going to open it all the way. His eyes land on you, and for a split second, something like relief flashes across his face.

Then it’s gone.

Replaced by something colder. Guarded. Almost annoyed.

“…What are you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice rough, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone all day. Or maybe like he didn’t want to speak to you.

You blink, caught off guard by how distant he sounds. You expected guilt maybe, or discomfort, but not this sharpness. Still, you hold your ground.

“I just…” You clear your throat, looking up at him. “I wanted to check on you. You’ve been quiet lately.”

Joel exhales through his nose, leans against the frame. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not like you,” you say gently. “You usually at least text my dad. He’s starting to get worried.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping for a moment before flicking back up to yours. “I’m fine.”

You study him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps, a little too quickly.

You don’t flinch. “Okay. So you’re fine. Everything’s okay. Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Joel goes still.

He opens the door a little more, like he’s considering asking you in, but doesn’t. The hallway behind him is dimly lit. The smell of wood and leather and old whiskey drifts out, familiar and grounding, but right now it only makes your chest ache.

“I’m not avoidin’ you,” he mutters, clearly lying.

You cross your arms. “Joel.”

He lets out a tired sigh and runs a hand down his face. “Jesus. Look, it’s just… what we did…” he starts, his voice dropping low, like even saying it out loud might make it worse. “It was dangerous.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Dangerous how?”

“You know how,” he snaps, then softens almost immediately. “It was wrong.”

“Then do you regret it?” you ask, voice quiet now. Not angry. Just… broken.

Joel looks at you — really looks at you — like the weight of that question has knocked the wind out of him. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says finally. “Of course I don’t. But that doesn’t make it right.”

You take a step closer. “You not talking to me? That doesn’t make it right either. It’s not just hurting me, Joel. My dad is confused. Worried. He thinks you’re mad at him or that something happened. And you know how he is — he doesn’t talk about his feelings, but I can see it. Every day. He misses you.”

Joel’s eyes close briefly like the words hit too close.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he says quietly.

“I know you didn’t,” you say, voice softening too. “But you are. By shutting down. By disappearing. And if this… whatever this thing was between us — if it’s the reason you’ve pulled away, then fine.”

You swallow hard.

“I’ll let it go. I’ll forget it happened. Just… don’t disappear on him. He needs you. We need you.”

There’s a long silence between you. Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His jaw clenches like he’s trying to hold something back — guilt or longing or both.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“I care about your dad,” he says, his voice low and thick. “More than I’ve ever cared about another person in my life. He’s… family.”

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I’m asking you to stop doing this. Just come back to us. To him. We don’t have to talk about what happened. We don’t have to do anything else. Just… be normal again.”

Joel looks at you like the words are both a lifeline and a punishment.

And for a second, you think maybe — just maybe — he’s going to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just nods once. Slow. Reluctant.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You exhale, even though it doesn’t feel like relief. “Thank you.”

Joel’s hand tightens on the doorknob. His voice comes out quieter this time. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” you say, even if it doesn’t feel true.

You turn to go. He doesn’t stop you.

And as the door closes gently behind you, the space between you settles into the silence again.

Weeks pass. And life, somehow, starts to feel normal again.

Not all at once — not with some big moment or apology — but gradually. Like the way winter fades into spring: slow, cautious, not entirely sure it’s safe to bloom again.

At first, you and Joel barely look at each other.

When he comes over, you find an excuse to leave. You suddenly remember errands, drive aimlessly for hours just to avoid the creak of floorboards in your room while his voice fills the house downstairs. You wait until he’s left before returning home, stepping into the quiet space he’s left behind, air still faintly warm from where he’d stood.

You wonder if he notices you slipping around him like a ghost. You wonder if it hurts him the way it hurts you.

But he never says anything.

Your dad, though — he lights back up like someone flipped a switch. Joel’s presence returns like it never left: sitting at the kitchen table again, beer in hand, teasing your dad about the burnt edges of his barbecue. Watching sports, fixing things that don’t really need fixing. He starts calling again, sending texts, stopping by after work with that slow, tired smile that used to feel like home.

And you watch from the background. At first.

Little by little, you let yourself drift back in.

Dinner at the table again. Quiet small talk. A movie night where you don’t fake a headache and hide in your room. A joke shared on the porch that makes your dad laugh, Joel’s eyes flicking toward you for half a second — just long enough for your breath to hitch. You sip your drink and look away before it can become anything more.

Everything is back to normal.

At least on the surface.

But beneath it, under the calm rhythms of domestic life, something pulses.

You miss him.

You miss the way he used to say your name with that quiet warmth. The way he’d smile when you walked into the room, like you were the one he’d been waiting for. You miss catching his eye from across the table, the subtle flicker of amusement or softness that only you could read. The knowing glances shared across the porch, the late-night glimpses through open windows.

You keep your blinds closed now. So does he.

It’s better this way, you tell yourself.

Safer.

You promised to forget. To move on. To let it go for your dad’s sake.

And you meant it. You still do.

But some nights, when the house is quiet and you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you remember the way his voice sounded in the dark. The way his hands moved like he already knew every part of you. You remember the heat, the whisper of sweet names, the way he tucked you into bed like he didn’t want to leave but knew he had to.

You don’t cry.

But you feel the ache of missing him like something that was half-healed and pulled open again. Not bleeding — just sore. Tender. Like a bruise only you can feel.

And so you smile at him over dinner. You laugh when he teases your dad. You hand him a beer from the fridge like nothing ever happened. You nod when your dad talks about how good it is to have Joel around again.

And you pretend.

Because that’s what you promised. And because pretending is the only way you get to keep him in your life at all.

The house is quiet. Your dad's gone to bed hours ago, his snoring echoing faintly down the hall. A half-watched movie flickers across the dark living room, its sound low and distant like the buzz of a dream. You’re still on the couch, knees pulled up beneath you, a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor. Rain tapping the window with a calm stream.

You’re not expecting anyone when the knock comes.

It’s late — not so late that it’s strange, but late enough that your heart jumps at the sound. The kind of late that makes everything in the house feel more vulnerable. Darker. Softer.

You pause the movie that’s been playing to an empty room, remote still in your hand, and glance toward the front door. No text. No warning.

But you already know it’s him.

You cross the living room slowly, wiping your palms down the sides of your thighs as you go. You don't check through the peephole. You just open the door.

And there he is.

Joel.

He stands beneath the low porch light, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other clutching something — your dad’s wallet. His jacket is open, shirt rumpled like he’s been wearing it too long. His hair is still damp from the shower or maybe the rain — you can’t tell — and his face is unreadable. Guarded. Tired. A little like he didn’t want to be here, but couldn’t stop himself anyway.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach flips. “Hey.”

He lifts the wallet slightly. “Your dad left this in my truck earlier.”

You glance at it, then back at him. “You didn’t have to bring it by tonight.”

Joel shrugs, like it’s nothing, but his jaw’s tight. “Figured he might need it tomorrow.”

“He’s already asleep.”

“I figured that, too.”

Silence settles between you. The kind that used to feel easy — familiar. But now it’s wrapped in something heavier. Sharper. The kind of silence that has to be handled carefully or it might shatter.

You step back without thinking. “You can come in, if you want.”

He hesitates for a beat.

Then he steps inside.

He walks with slow, deliberate steps — like the floor might crack beneath him — and sets the wallet down on the kitchen counter with a muted thud. You shut the door, but don’t move to join him just yet. You watch him from the hallway instead, arms crossed, your body buzzing with nerves.

Joel turns toward you, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

You clear your throat. “You’re quiet.”

He exhales, looks away for a second. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He nods once. Too quickly. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

His shoulders tense. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You study him. The slope of his brow. The way he’s not looking at you. And it stings — that careful distance he keeps between you. Like you’re something he can’t be trusted to stand too close to.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say softly. “Pretend we’re strangers.”

Joel’s gaze snaps to you — quick, sharp, pained.

“I’m not pretending that,” he says, voice low.

“Then what are you pretending?”

He doesn’t answer. He just watches you like he's trying to hold something in — something he doesn’t trust himself to say.

You take a step forward. Just one. Your voice stays quiet. Careful.

“I thought we were okay. After that night on the porch. I told you I’d drop it. I meant it.”

“I know you did.”

“Then why does it still feel like you’re avoiding me?”

Joel’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t try to lie.

You step closer again, your chest tightening. “I’m not trying to pull you back into anything. I just… I miss you. I miss when we could be in the same room and not feel like we were walking on glass.”

Joel swallows hard, his throat working around the weight of your words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and hoarse.

“I don’t know how to look at you and not want to touch you.”

The words sink into your skin, low and heated and aching. You go still.

Joel shakes his head. “You think this is easy for me? Bein’ around your dad. Coming in this house. Trying to be normal when all I can think about is how you looked that night — standing at my door, askin’ me if I regret it.”

You blink, throat tight. “Do you?”

His eyes meet yours. Unflinching. “No. But I think about it every goddamn day. What we risked. What it could’ve cost.”

You step closer — close enough now to feel the warmth of his body.

“But it didn’t,” you whisper. “And we said we’d move on.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we still hurting?”

Joel looks at you like he’s trying not to drown in it. Like he wants to say no, wants to say nothing, but his body betrays him first.

His hand lifts.

It hesitates halfway — a breath, a pause — and then he’s touching you. Calloused fingers brush gently along your jaw, so soft it nearly breaks you. His thumb trails just beneath your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter shut instinctively, overwhelmed by the way it feels. Like a confession.

He’s so close now. You can smell cedar and smoke. Feel the warmth of his breath as it fans across your lips. Your heart is in your throat, thudding loud enough to drown out every thought except him.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Desperate. Tender.

His lips press into yours like a secret he’s too tired to keep. There’s no rush, no hunger — just aching restraint, the kind of kiss that says I’ve missed you every second I’ve been away. His hand cradles your jaw while the other curls gently around your waist, not pulling, just holding. Like he needs to remember what it feels like before he lets go again.

His lips taste like regret and rain. His touch is careful, worshipful — like you’re something holy.

Your fingers find the front of his shirt, clinging to it as your body leans into him, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it. The kiss deepens — slowly, carefully — his mouth parting against yours with quiet submission. Like he's afraid if he gives in too much, he'll ruin you both.

And maybe he will.

When he finally pulls away, it’s with a soft, trembling breath. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, in a voice so broken it almost undoes you: “I’m sorry.”

He brushes his thumb once more across your cheek — almost like goodbye — and steps back.

And before you can ask him to stay, before you can say please, he opens the door and slips out into the night.

You don’t follow. You don’t cry. You just stand there in the dark, feeling the echo of his mouth on yours like an imprint you’ll never get rid of.

Gone again.

Leaving you standing there in the dark — lips tingling, heart hollow — with the weight of his kiss still clinging to your skin like a bruise that hasn’t formed yet.

And for the first time in weeks, you’re not just missing him. You’re mourning him.

It starts with the quiet.

The kind of quiet that hums. That settles into the walls of the house like dust and lingers under your skin, too thick to ignore but not loud enough to drown out. You’ve been trying to keep busy — folding laundry that doesn’t need folding, pacing around the kitchen without purpose, starting a movie you didn’t even want to watch.

You left it playing in the background anyway. Something old. Familiar. A film you’ve seen a dozen times but couldn’t name a single plot point if someone asked. The dialogue blends into the silence like white noise. You're not really listening.

Not when your mind keeps wandering.

Back to him.

Back to that night.

That kiss.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it — the way his mouth felt on yours, soft and certain and so careful, like he was afraid of breaking something even as he gave in to the very thing he’d been trying so hard to avoid. It plays on a loop in your mind. The heat of his hand on your jaw. The tremble in his voice when he said, “I’m sorry.”

You haven’t been the same since.

Not because of the kiss — but because of what came after. The way he left. The way he hasn’t reached out since.

Like he’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

Like you’re something he regrets.

You pull your knees up to your chest on the bed, resting your chin there as the light from the TV flickers across the room. You’ve been holding your breath every night since. Waiting for him to text. To call. To do something.

But he hasn’t.

And the silence is starting to feel like punishment.

The house is still. Your dad went to bed hours ago — you heard the creak of his door, the distant shuffle of him brushing his teeth, the usual end-of-day routine.

You wonder if he regrets it.

The thought sits heavy in your chest, pressing down with every heartbeat. You’ve tried to be okay with the distance — you promised you’d let it go — but there’s a hollowness in your ribs that won’t fill. Not when he feels so close and so far all at once.

You sigh, reach for your phone, and check it for the hundredth time.

Still nothing.

You set it down with a quiet thud on the nightstand, then push yourself up, restless. You pace once to the window before you catch yourself.

And then you see it. Just a sliver at first.

Barely there — the way moonlight breaks across his blinds when they’re tilted too wide, or how the glow of his lamp leaks between the cracks. You almost don’t notice it. You’re not looking for it, not really. But your eyes find his window anyway, like they always do. Like they haven’t stopped.

You freeze.

Because they’re open.

For weeks, they’ve been closed. Tight. Like he couldn’t risk letting you see even a shadow of him. Like he was trying to cut the tether between your houses with nothing but slats of plastic.

But now?

Now the blinds are drawn just enough to see in.

And he’s there.

Joel.

He’s standing by the window, backlit by warm lamplight, his head bent low like he’s reading something. You can’t see much — the outline of his shoulders, the slope of his spine — but it’s enough. Your chest pulls tight.

You don’t move. Don’t blink.

You just watch.

At first, it feels innocent again. Like it used to — like the old evenings, when you’d glance across the street and see him moving through his house in a way that felt... comforting. Familiar. A ritual neither of you ever spoke about but always seemed to fall into.

But this time it feels different.

Because now he’s looking up.

Right at you.

Your breath stutters in your throat. You think about ducking, turning away, pretending you weren’t staring — but something about the look in his eyes stops you.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. He just watches you.

Slowly, you step closer to your own window. Close enough that he can see your face. Not just your shape. Not just your shadow.

His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But there’s something in the way his gaze softens, something that makes your stomach twist and heat crawl up your neck.

His hand moves — slow, deliberate — reaching for the chain of his blinds. You tense, thinking he’s going to close them again, disappear from view like he has so many nights before.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls them wider.

Your breath catches. Because now you see all of him.

He’s wearing a soft, worn t-shirt, clinging to the shape of his chest. His hair’s damp, like he’s just come out of the shower. There’s a crease between his brows, something tired and tense, but his body is relaxed — like he’s standing there waiting for you. Like he knew you’d be looking.

Like maybe… he was waiting too.

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s you — maybe it’s the way your hand lifts, pressing against the glass as if that’ll make the space between you smaller. Or maybe it’s him — the way he shifts his stance, closer to the window now, one hand braced on the frame, the other resting low on his hip.

He’s not smiling.

But he’s not hiding either.

And God, that does something to you.

The silence of the night is louder now. You can hear the soft whir of your fan, the hum of distant traffic, the thump of your own pulse in your ears. You can feel everything — the weight of his eyes, the heat blooming beneath your skin, the ache that never really left.

Joel tilts his head. Just slightly. Like he’s asking you a question without speaking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just keep watching.

And then — slowly — he brings a hand to the hem of his shirt.

He doesn’t take it off. He doesn’t do anything obvious or lewd.

He just lifts it enough to scratch at his side. A lazy, thoughtless gesture. But your eyes follow the motion like you’re starved for it. The way his stomach flexes, the glimpse of skin. Your thighs press together, instinctively, and you hate the way it feels like he knows that. Like he’s watching your reaction just as closely.

Because this isn’t innocent anymore.

This is intentional.

This is him saying: Remember.

And you’re too scared to look away. Too sad. Too hungry.

Because you want him — so much it hurts. Even after all the distance. Even after all the silence. You want him in a way that feels like surrender.

He shifts again.

Turns just slightly so you see more of his profile, his broad chest, the curve of his jaw. And when he leans forward — arms braced on the windowsill, head tilted low — it feels like gravity itself is shifting. Like the space between your houses isn’t enough to stop what’s starting.

You move without thinking.

Your fingers trail down the front of your sleep shirt. Thin cotton. Nothing underneath. And when you see his jaw clench at the sight, your breath catches.

You should stop.

You should close your blinds, turn away, pretend you don’t feel the heat blooming low in your stomach like a secret — but you don’t.

Because he’s still watching.

And he looks like he’s in pain. Like watching you is unraveling him.

His hand lifts again — slow, cautious — like he’s asking permission.

You nod. Just once.

And he unbuckles his belt.

The leather comes undone, slow and deliberate –– like he’s trying to torture you in ways you couldn’t possibly understand. He finally removes his belt, it’s like you can hear the metal clinking even through your window, feet away –– but he doesn’t undress.

His jeans now hang low on his waist, revealing deep hipbones just under his white t-shirt. His shirt rides up just enough, exposing the hair that travels, disappearing in the waistband. He sends a knowing look your way, eyebrow slightly raised, head tilted low. He’s teasing you.

A shiver escapes your lips, but it has nothing to do with the night air. What is he doing to you?

Not long ago — weeks — he told you to stay away. Made you promise. Said it was better this way, that you both needed to forget. And yet, just weeks after those words, he came to you in the dark. No warning, no reason. Just a kiss that lit a fire in your chest and then vanished with him into the shadows, leaving you gasping and hollow.

You know better than to let this go on. You’ve tried to pull away, to make the distance real. But Joel — Joel is like some toxic flower. Beautiful, intoxicating. The kind you want to keep touching even when the thorns are already cutting in.

You should shut the window. You should walk away. But instead, you vanish from the glass, knowing damn well what you're doing — leaving him aching.

Moments later, your phone buzzes.

Joel come back please

You stare at the screen. Your thumb hovers.

You No.

A pause. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Joel you can’t just disappear like that i need to see you

You you saw me. that was the problem, remember? you’re the one who said this couldn’t happen.

A longer pause now. Maybe he’s pacing. You imagine him raking a hand through his hair, frustration carved into every line of his face.

Joel i didn’t mean it. not like that. i just... it’s complicated

You No. It’s simple. You told me to forget. I tried. You kissed me. I didn’t ask for that.

Joel but you kissed me back.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. You type. Erase. Then type again.

You doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Another pause.

Joel then come over. just for a minute. i’ll explain. no pressure. i just need to see you. please

Your fingers twitch. Everything in you says no. But the thing is, that ache he left in you — it never really went away. You press your lips together, jaw tight.

You if i come, you don’t get to disappear again.

Joel deal… wear something pretty.

You know exactly what he means by those last words, know what you’re getting yourself into. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. You already know you’re going. Just needed to hear him say it.

You slip your phone into your pocket before he can say anything else. The decision has already sunk into your bones like warm rain — inevitable.

The house is silent. You move like a ghost through the halls, toes brushing cold wood floors, heart pounding in your throat. Every creak feels like a confession. Every breath, too loud. You hesitate at the back door, one hand resting on the knob, the other curled around the edge of your jacket.

Just for a minute. That’s what he said.

But you already know a minute won’t be enough.

The night greets you with a hush, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like something big is about to happen. Joel’s house is just a few feet away. Close enough that you've memorized the way his porch light flickers.

By the time you reach his porch, your pulse is a steady drumbeat in your ears. His truck’s out front, same as always. The house is dark except for the light in the front room.

You round the corner of the porch. And there he is.

Joel’s leaning against the doorway like he’s been standing there for hours. His arms are crossed, his jaw set, but his eyes — his eyes are soft in the worst way. Like regret and want are sitting side by side behind them.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says, voice low, rough from too many things unsaid.

You shrug, pretending like your heart isn’t breaking just looking at him. “You said please.”

He lets out a breath, half a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real. Then he steps back and opens the door wider.

“Come inside.”

You hesitate for only a second. Then you cross the threshold.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click that sounds a lot like surrender.

Inside, the air feels different. Warmer. Tighter. Joel stands close, but not too close. Not yet. You can see the way his hands twitch, like he’s holding himself back.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says quietly. “When I told you it was complicated.”

You look at him. “Then explain it.”

He nods, eyes dropping to the floor for a second before they meet yours again. “I wanted to protect you from... from this. From me. I thought if I stayed away, you’d move on. That I’d stop wanting you.”

“And did you?” Your voice is steadier than you feel.

He swallows hard. “Not for a damn second.”

The space between you hums like a live wire. One wrong move, and you'll both fall into it.

You take a step forward. Just one. “Then what do we do, Joel?”

He exhales, slow and ragged, and lifts a hand like he’s going to touch you — then stops himself again.

“We stop pretending it doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “And we stop lying about how we feel.”

This time, it’s you who reaches for him.

The moment your fingers curl into his shirt and you whisper, “Then stop pretending,” Joel loses it.

His mouth crashes into yours with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for weeks. There’s no patience, no hesitation — just heat, teeth, tongue, and years of tension finally catching fire.

He’s already walking you backward, lips never leaving yours, hands gripping your waist like he can’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you straight through the wall.

You gasp against his mouth as your back hits it with a thud. “Joel—”

He shakes his head, breathing hard. “No. Don’t talk. Just—come here.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you toward the stairs, but neither of you make it gracefully. You’re tripping over each other, stumbling, laughing breathlessly between kisses. He lifts you halfway up the stairs like he can’t stand the space between your bodies, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, arms thrown around his shoulders.

He pins you to the wall midway up, grinding into you hard enough to draw a gasp from your throat.

“You gonna keep teasin’ me?” he mutters against your neck, biting gently.

“You gonna keep talking?” you shoot back, yanking at his jeans.

That does it. He lets out a guttural, broken sound and practically hauls you the rest of the way, mouths still crashing, hands roaming fast and rough. The stairs become a blur of groans and tangled limbs, your bodies fumbling, too impatient to care.

By the time you burst through his bedroom door, you’re both wild.

He slams the door shut behind you, doesn’t even wait to reach the bed — just presses you up against it, shoves his hands under your shirt and yanks it off like it’s offending him by existing. You tear at his in return, dragging it over his head as he kisses down your chest, your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re killing me.”

You pull him back up, crash your mouth to his again. “Then don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He lifts you, drops you onto the bed, crawling over you with that same unstoppable force. His hands are everywhere — your hips, your thighs, your jaw. He kisses you like he’s drowning in you, like if he stops, he’ll lose his mind.

“I’ve wanted you,” he groans, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “For so fucking long.”

“Show me,” you whisper, nails raking down his back.

He groans into your skin, grinding against you. “You think I haven’t imagined this? Thought about how you’d sound—how you’d feel?”

“Joel—” you gasp, hips meeting his in desperate rhythm.

He’s losing it. You both are.

You roll, straddle him, kiss him hard. He grabs your hips, guiding you as you move, both of you chasing something that’s been just out of reach for far too long.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice ragged.

You do — and that look in his eyes, that wild, almost worshipful hunger, nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You’re mine,” he says, like a vow. “Tonight, you’re fucking mine.”

Joel dips his head to your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin just below your ear –– creating possessive marks that you know shouldn’t be there but can’t bring yourself to stop him. You roll your hips into his crotch, needing his attention in the filthiest of ways. A small grunt slips from his lips at the friction.

“Fuck, baby girl, want me that bad?” He teases, a sly smirk displaying for you to see.

“Joel I— please.” You beg, tired of the games, tired of the complication, tired of the mess. You just want to pretend you really are his, even if it’s just for the night.

Joel doesn’t fight, doesn’t continue with the teasing –– he needs you just as bad. Flips you back over so he’s on top. One hand cups your breast, kneading the hard nub –– twisting it harshly between his fingers, sending electric shivers up your spine. His mouth catches the other, his tongue swirling in sinful ways, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

Your fingers curl into the back of his head, tugging slightly at the stray hairs. His eyes meet yours –– nipple still between his teeth. The site alone makes you moan his name in ways you never thought you could.

His hand trails down your stomach and pushes down your pretty, baby pink sleep shorts. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear.

“Such a slut.” Joel murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “Walkin’ to my house with no panties on. Tryin’ to tell me you didn’t come over for me to fuck you?”

Whines escape your lips as his fingers reach down, rubbing you’re already soaked cunt –– spreading your slick up to your clit.

“So wet for me. Can see you glistening. Needed me this bad, baby?”

“Joel—" You whine, body withering underneath his gaze.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here now.” He assures, dipping his head between your thighs, lightly flicking his tongue at your ever swollen clit.

The noises leaving your mouth are sinful, filling the dimly lit room, feeling the empty house. He sucks slightly, thumb trailing rubbing between your wet folds. Your hands grab at his hair, tugging for some release. Knees now bent with your feet hanging ever so slightly in the air.

You feel your body start to shake as he easily enters his middle and ring finger inside of you –– curling once he knows he’s deep enough to have you begging.

His free palm presses slightly on the lower part of your stomach, keeping you still while his movements begin a harsh pace. Wet, disgusting noises feel the air, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, chasing his mouth with your trusts.

“Need my tongue?” He asks, making eye contact with you for the first time since he buried his face between your legs.

You nod your head fiercely, whining when you lose contact as he removes his fingers. The loss isn’t long missed when he quickly replaces his tongue, digging himself inside you. His thumb trails slowly up your thighs, meeting at your clit and rubbing deep circles causing you to arch into his touch.

“Joel, gonna— god I’m gonna come.” You whimper, movements now faulty, legs shaking around him and toes curling slightly.

“Wanna taste you. You can do it, babygirl, come on.”

The want you hear in his low, hoarse, voice drives you over the edge. Never hearing anyone want you that bad. Never having anyone begging for your taste. The heat coiled in your lower stomach now released –– mouth agape and eyes rolled. You can hear the lewd sounds of Joel taking you all in, not allowing any escape.

You lay there, catching your breath and admiring the site one last time of Joel between your legs. You thought this would be it, never have gone so far with him, never have even seen him naked. Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless in his dimly lit bedroom from hundreds of feet away. And when you were finally falling apart in his arms, he was clothed the whole time, never touched.

So, it came as a shock to you when Joel desperately pulls his jeans down his thighs, past his calves, and throws them on the ground –– uncared for. His boxers chase quickly after and you’re met with the sight of Joels hard, dripping, length. He’s just as big as you imagined.

He crouches over you, hand placed on the side of your head as he adjusts himself between your legs. His gaze lands on yours –– full of hunger, like you’re the last meal he’d ever have.

“You want this?” He asks. Genuinely asks –– no teasing.

“Yes.” You answer quietly, slowly wrapping your legs around his waist. “Fuck me hard.”

He smirks at the request. You have no idea what you’ve just asked for kind of look displayed on his face. You’re nervous. You’re excited. You’re ready to take him –– all of him.

He lines himself up with your entrance, giving you one last assuring look, and once he sees that you’re serious, he slams into you. No edging, no warning, no prep. A scream leaves your lips, and you quickly cover your mouth with you own hands.

“No, let me hear you.” He demands, removing your hands. “Wanna hear my pretty girl’s cry.”

You move your hands to his biceps, digging your nails deep into him –– defiantly leaving marks. He gives you exactly what you asked for as your screams fill the dim room. Joels movements so harsh, so steady, the sound of skin hitting against skin drowning itself into your ear.

His gaze lingers at the sight of you taking him in, all of him. He watches the filthy sight, groaning every time he sees himself disappear between your thighs. Watching how his shaft is glistening with your juices when he pulls out again.

“Look at you. Handlin’ this like such a good girl.” He grunts, facing you. “My girl takin’ all of me.”

You grab each side of his cheeks, stray tears leaving your eyes at the firey contact between your legs. He’s being so harsh with you, so mean. But his words suggest otherwise. You want to be so good for him, you want him to have his way.

“You okay, baby girl?” As he bends down, kissing each tear. His concern couldn’t be more comforting. You nod your head. I want this.

He offers you a mischievous smile at the answer, arms now wrapping around your knees, pushing your legs to your chest to get himself in the deepest position. A deep moan escapes his lips at the feeling.

He starts slow, pacing to get you prepared and ready, but seeing you’re already scratching his back at the contact, his pace quickens –– the sound of loud smacks and the headboard banging against the wall over power your moans.

You feel his movements become unsteady as he pushes your legs as far as he can, almost folding you in half as if he could place you in his pocket — and then he thrusts deeper, harder, as if trying to crawl inside you, to stay there.

His grip tightens, his pace turns frantic, and when he finally loses control, it’s with your name ripped from his throat and his body trembling above yours, like you’ve shattered something vital in him.

And when he finally flips, pulls you down onto him, the world splits open. You’re now in his lap, but you’re not in control. His thrusts still deep inside you as his hands grip at you hips –– holding you there as if you were to escape.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow.

It’s pure, feral need. A collision of bodies, of emotion, of everything you’ve both denied.

You’re kissing between moans, holding on for dear life, moving like the world might end tomorrow — and maybe it already has, because nothing else exists except this. Joel, beneath you, inside you, gripping you like you’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.

And you — burning alive in his hands, coming apart under every word he groans into your skin, every thrust, every whispered “God, I missed you.”

The bed rocks. The headboard slams. Your name breaks off his lips like a prayer.

And you feel him twitch deep inside of you, head thrown back, breath hitched. He’s warm inside of you, dripping out slowly down your thighs and around his shaft where he still sits inside.

You collapse onto his chest, your limbs weak, lungs pulling in ragged breaths that still can’t quite catch up to your racing heart. Joel’s arm is already around you, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

His skin is warm, damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. You listen to the thrum of his heartbeat — it’s fast, chaotic, like yours — and somehow, that grounds you more than anything else.

Neither of you speak for a moment. There’s no need.

His hand finds your hair, fingers slowly combing through it in lazy, distracted strokes. You melt into him, eyes fluttering shut, lulled by the rhythmic movement and the soft sound of his breathing.

“You okay?” he asks eventually, his voice low and rough, still wrecked from what just passed between you.

You nod against his chest. “Yeah.”

He tilts his head, kisses the top of yours — slow, gentle, lingering. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You were perfect.”

You feel the breath leave his lungs at that, like your words hit something deep inside him.

For a moment, he just keeps playing with your hair, grounding himself in the softness of you. Then you feel him shift beneath you, moving with quiet purpose. Finally pulling himself out.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs.

You groan softly in protest, but he presses another kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running, a drawer opening, something rustling. When he returns, he’s holding a warm, damp towel and one of his shirts.

Joel sits at the edge of the bed and gently parts your legs, eyes scanning your face for any hesitation. “Just let me take care of you,” he says quietly.

You nod, throat tight.

His touch is tender, soft, as he cleans you up — his fingers slow, like this is his way of saying all the things he doesn’t quite know how to say aloud. When he finishes, he slips the oversized shirt over your head, pulling it gently down your arms.

You catch him staring at you in it — his shirt, your skin — and there’s something in his eyes that isn’t just lust. It’s something quieter. Something closer to wonder.

Joel climbs into bed beside you, pulls the blanket up over both of you, and gathers you into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Like you belong there.

His fingers find your hair again, idly twirling strands between them.

You press your face into his neck, breathing him in.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

His hand stills in your hair. “I never stopped missing you.”

And in the quiet that follows, everything feels still. Safe. Real.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re running.

You just feel at home.

a/n: I am so sorry this took forever for me to post!!

@locaparapedrito @vickie5446 @thewritergx

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